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a~~< 


RACHEL  DU  MONT; 


&  iraxre  Sittte  IPaid  erf  tfte  gjtowltttiim. 


A  TRUE  STORY  OF  THE  BURNING  OF  KINGSTON,  N.  Y. 


BY   THE   BRITISH,   1 776. 


FOR  GIRLS  AND  BOYS,  AND  OLDER  PEOPLE. 


BY  MARY  WESTBROOK. 


ORIGINALLY  WRITTEN  FOR  PRIVATE  DISTRIBUTION. 


FOURTH  AND  ILLUSTRATED  EDITION. 


ALBANY,  N.  Y. : 

JOEL  MUNSELL'S  SONS,  PUBLISHERS. 
1890. 


COPYRIGHT    BY 

MRS.  JAMES  LANSING  VAN  DEUSEN. 


WITH    A    HEART    O  ERFLOWING   WITH    PRECIOUS    MEMORIES 

TD   MY  MDTHER, 

SARAH    BEEKMAN    WESTBROOK, 

THE   YOUNGEST   CHILD    OF    "LITTLE   RACHEL," 

LOVINGLY,  TENDERLY,  I  INSCRIBE 

THIS    STORY. 


Mary  Westbrook. 


The  Weinberg, 
Kingston,  N.  Y.,  1884. 


PREFACE  TO  FOURTH  EDITION. 


Thanking,  with  all  my  heart,  the  friends  who  have  so  kindly  and 
cordially  received  my  little  "  Rachel  DuMont,"  I  venture  this 
new  edition,  hoping,  trusting  that  "  The  Brave  Little  Maid  of 
the  Revolution  "  will  ever  retain  the  interest  which  has  been  so 
delicately,  unstintedly  shown  at  her  debut. 

Mary  Westbrook. 

Cloveri.y-on- Weinberg, 
Kingston,  N.  Y. 


' Rachel  was  obliged  to  shade  her  eyes  with  her  hands  that  she  might  still  gazi 


RACHEL  DU  MONT; 
&  3xnm  $iitl*  gXaifl  ®f  tfee  ^molvttiau. 


A.    TRUE    STORY. 


CHAPTER  I. 


NE  hundred  and  seven  years  ago,  on  the 
sixteenth  of  October,  a  perfect  day  of  In- 
dian-summer, a  small  village  nestling  under 
the  Catskill  mountains,  was  startled  early  in  the 
morning  by  the  cry :  "  The  British  soldiers  are 
coming  !  "  Of  course,  young  readers,  you  know  this 
was  during  our  Revolutionary  War.  This  war  was 
fought,  you  remember,  to  free  our  American  colonies 
from  the  unjust  tyranny  of  Great  Britain,  and  to 
establish  a  government  for  ourselves  —  under  which 
government,  through  God's  goodness,  we  are  living 
to  day.  The  rural  settlement  which  I  have  just 
spoken  about,  was  Kingston,  a  place  of  much  im- 
portance during  this  long  struggle  for  freedom. 
General    Washington    often    had    his   head-quarters 


8  Rachel  DuMont, 

here,  and  the  house  in  which  he  stopped  is  still  stand- 
ing. To  go  back  to  my  story  :  In  this  village  lived  a 
brave  little  girl,  fifteen  years  old,  by  the  name  of 
Rachel  DuMont.  She  was  the  eldest  child  of  an  in- 
valid father  and  mother,  and  had  three  sisters  and  one 
brother.  Rachel  was  the  little  mistress  and  house- 
keeper. In  the  house,  beside  the  immediate  family, 
were  twenty  slaves,  over  whom  the  little  maid  kept 
a  kind  supervision,  for  slavery,  in  a  mild  form,  then 
prevailed  in  New  York.  Some  of  these  family  ser- 
vants had  grown  quite  old  and  infirm,  and  some 
were  children  younger  than  Rachel  herself.  She  was 
the  darling  little  "missy"  all  of  the  bond-children 
loved  and  almost  worshipped.  And  truly  the  child 
was  worthy  of  all  the  affection  they  so  freely  lavished 
upon  her.  She  was  ever  careful  for  all  their  wants, 
and  always  treated  them  kindly  and  considerately. 
On  the  day  when  this  sudden  cry  spread  through  the 
hamlet,  every  man  that  was  able  to  fight,  or  enlist 
as  a  soldier,  was  away  with  the  army  under  Wash- 
ington, and  none  were  left  to  guard  the  women  and 
children  save  the  sick  and  very  old.  These,  of 
course,  could  not  do  much,  so  the  women  and  chil- 
dren had  to  act  the  part  of  soldiers,  and  nobly  many 
of  them  did  their  duty.  But  none  excelled  the 
young  damsel  Rachel,  who  showed,  in  readiness  for 
the  crisis,  a  careful  management  and  forethought  far 
beyond  her  years. 

"The    British    are    coming!"     sounded    and     re- 
sounded o'er  the  beautiful  plains  of  the  quiet  village. 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution. 


Rachel  and  her  Mother. 


io  Rachel  DuMont, 

And  well  the  inhabitants  knew  what  that  meant.  It 
had  been  rumored  that  Kingston  was  to  be  burned 
by  the  British  soldiers,  so  as  to  cut  off  the  supplies 
from  the  rebel  army,  which  came  largely  from  the 
rich  farms  bordering  this  old  Dutch  settlement. 
Some  Tory  families,  living  in  Kingston,  had  given 
this  information  to  the  British  officers,  upon  the 
assurance  that  they  should  find  protection.  Yes, 
dear  youth,  even  one  hundred  years  ago,  there  were 
a  few  ready  to  betray  their  country,  should  their  own 
interests  not  suffer  thereby.  Ignoble  souls  !  Let 
us,  if  we  can,  draw  the  veil  of  charity  over  their  mis- 
deeds. 

On  the  eventful  morning  of  the  entrance  of  the 
enemy  in  this  camp  of  women  and  children, 
Rachel  was  arrayed  in  a  most  becoming  holiday 
attire,  consisting  of  a  white  tunic,  (or  short-gown, 
as  it  was  then  called)  and  blue  skirt  or  petticoat, 
reaching  midway  between  the  knee  and  ankle,  and 
long  blue  silk  stockings,  with  black  pumps,  orna- 
mented with  large  silver  buckles.  Her  hair,  which 
was  chestnut  brown,  was  closely  tucked  under  a 
dainty  white  muslin  cap,  save  a  few  stray  curling 
locks,  which  chafed  at  the  restraint,  and  sported  with 
wild  abandon  on  the  soft  autumn  breeze.  It  was 
the  little  girl's  fifteenth  birthday,  and  it  was  to  be 
celebrated  with  as  much  festivity  as  the  perilous 
times  would  allow.  The  girls  and  boys  of  the  vil- 
lage had  been  invited  to  spend  the  day  with  Rachel 
in    the  large  front-yard  of    the  old  family  mansion. 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       1 1 

Caesar,  the  most  venerable  of  the  men-servants,  over 
whose  brow  the  gray  hair  was  deftly  braided  in 
honor  of  the  day,  and  Isabel,  his  wife,  with  a  bright 
red  turban  and  clean  white  apron,  were  to  preside 
over  the  supplies  of  the  kitchen — which,  let  me 
whisper  right  here  —  consisted  only  of  suppawn  and 
milk.  And  the  whole  crowd  of  servants  —  forming 
almost  a  colony  —  were  already  robed  in  their  very 
best  —  the  girls  and  women  in  gray  homespun  petti- 
coats, with  blue  waists  and  'kerchiefs,  yellow  turbans 
and  pink  aprons.  The  boys  and  men  also  in  gray 
linsey-woolsey  suits  —  roundabouts  and  trowsers  — 
and  braided  hair,  which  was  made  to  stand  out  like 
the  waxed  moustache  of  the  present  day.  They 
were  to  have  games  on  the  still  soft,  sweet,  green 
grass  :  "  Oats,  peas,  beans  and  barley  grows,"  "  Hunt 
the  slipper,"  "  Pillows  and  keys,"  etcetera,  and  then 
they  were  to  have  their  refreshments  on  the  same 
rich  beautiful  lawn,  with  the  blue  canopy  of  Heaven 
over  their  heads. 

Isabel  had  spread  the  whitest  of  table-cloths  over 
the  improvised  table  for  the  great  party,  and  the  old 
blue  china  brought  from  Holland,  by  Rachel's 
mother,  and  the  antique  silver  cream-pitcher  from  the 
same  father-country  graced  this  neatly-laid  board. 
The  pitcher  I  must  describe,  as  being  now  in  posses- 
sion of  one  of  the  great-grandchildren  of  little 
Rachel, —  I  can  tell  you  just  how  it  looks.  The 
most  quaint  old  tankard,  poised  on  three  carved  feet, 
large  at  the  base,  and   sloping  upward  to  the  most 


12  Rachel  DuMont, 

delicate  of  necks  and  throats.  So,  although  only  a 
pudding  made  of  Indian  meal,  with  rich  creamy 
milk,  was  to  be  the  repast,  there  was  a  certain  style 
to  be  observed  in  the  serving  of  the  same,  which  be- 
tokened somewhat  the  social  status  of  the  little  girl's 
parents.  I  had  forgotten  to  tell  you  that  Rachel's 
father  was  a  French  Huguenot,  and  his  eldest  child 
had  inherited  all  the  gay  vivacity  and  graceful  man- 
ner of  the  French  race.  Yet  how  I  do  digress !  The 
morning  of  the  feAte  champetre,  the  little  Rachel  was 
in  the  most  brilliant  of  spirits,  and  her  deep  gray 
eyes  fairly  danced  with  delight,  yet  a  wistful,  far- 
away look  in  the  happy  child-face,  truly  foretold  the 
tragic  drama  of  this  eventful  day.  She  had  just  de- 
scended from  her  room,  in  the  gabled  attic  of  the 
old  stone  house,  and  had  gone  to  the  front  porch  to 
see  the  arrangements  for  her  lawn  party,  when  the 
alarm  —  "The  British  are  coming!"  —  fell  upon  her 
ear.  Instantaneously,  without  moving,  she  lifted 
her  eyes  and  heart  to  the  "  God  of  battles"  for  suc- 
cor and  guidance.  Then,  while  a  mantle  of  light 
seemed  to  envelop  her,  hastily  she  summoned  the 
men-servants  and  told  them  to  get  the  large  wagons, 
with  the  tried  family  and  farm  horses,  in  immediate 
readiness.  Quietly  she  went  to  the  invalid  parents 
who  were  each  reclining  on  a  lounge-chair,  and  told 
them  unexcitedly  as  possible  that  the  enemy  was 
near,  and  that  she  thought  best  to  move  the  family 
over  the  creek,  which  bordered  the  village,  and 
which  was,  at  that  time  of  the  day,  fordable. 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       13 

Instinctively  the  mother  and  father  submitted  to 
the  guidance  of  their  little  daughter,  seeming  to  re- 
gard her  as  specially  commissioned  to  save  them. 
They  were  quickly  ready  to  be  lifted  in  the  first 
wagon  by  the  servants,  who  then  placed  the  younger 
children  in  the  same  conveyance.  Caesar's  oldest 
son,  Elijah,  was  given  the  post  of  trust  for  this  pre- 
cious load — the  idolized  family  of  the  little  "  missy." 
And  with  a  good  portion  of  the  old  prophet's  sagac- 
ity did  this  stalwart  coachman  start  on  his  journey 
over  the  Esopus  creek. 

Rachel,  fondly  embracing  her  parents,  sisters  and 
brother,  who  implored  her  to  come  with  them, — 
bade  them  good-bye  with  a  loving,  strong  voice,  tell- 
ing them  God  would  bring  her  safely  to  them  when 
she  had  attended  to  the  rest  of  her  charge.  Then 
directing  the  men  to  lift  old  Dinah,  Caesar's  mother, 
who  was  bed-ridden  from  rheumatism,  in  the  next 
wagon,  and  one  of  the  little  slave  children,  who  was 
sick,  she  quickly  gave  orders  to  fill  up  this  load  with 
the  mothers  having  babies  and  young  children. 
Pompey,  Dinah's  second  grandson,  was  placed  in 
charge  of  his  grandmother,  the  mothers,  babies  (and 
horses,)  and  started  on  his  way.  He,  too,  rose  to 
the  dignity  of  the  occasion,  and  vociferously  shouted 
in  the  old  woman's  ear,  "  Don'  be  scared,  Mammy  ! 
The  Britishers  can't  catch  us  !  And  if  dey's  do,  one 
gimpse  of  yer  red  turban,  and  red  coak  would 
make  em  tink  we  wos  jis  dem  own  folks  !  So  no 
danger  for  us  !  "     And  putting  the  whip  to  the  horses 


H 


Rachel  DuMont, 


Pompey  Conveying  the  Slaves  to  a  Place  of  Safety, 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       15 

in  a  very  energetic  manner,  although  he  protested 
he  "  wasn'  'feared,"  reached  the  borders  of  the  creek, 
on  the  northwest  of  the  village,  just  as  the  red-coats 
were  seen  approaching  the  lowlands  on  the  north- 
east. Yet  brave  Pompey  did  not  say  he  had  caught 
sight  of  these  red-coats  to  the  old  Mammy.  For 
once  he  restrained  his  fright  somewhat.  Yet  his 
eye-balls  rolled  with  a  very  uncertain  glare,  as  ever 
and  anon  he  peeped  back  over  his  shoulders. 

Filling  another  smaller  wagon  with  a  few  of  the 
household  treasures  —  the  silver  and  china  which 
had  been  brought  out  of  the  house,  fortunately,  for 
the  grand  party,  Rachel  gave  this  in  charge  of  Uncle 
Ned,  Pompey's  father.  He  quickly  followed  in  the 
wake  of  the  preceding  wagons,  looking  neither  to 
the  right  nor  the  left,  "  les  I'se  might  be  changed  to 
a  pillar  of  salt,"  he  said.  Poor  old  Uncle  Ned, 
faithfully  and  literally  applied  all  the  Bible  warnings. 

Now,  the  little  girl  for  one  moment,  went  in  the 
dear  old  house,  to  take  a  parting  look  at  the  home 
of  her  birth,  whose  rooms  were  filled  with  so  many 
endeared,  hallowed  associations,  even  to  a  child. 
For  an  instant  the  tears  o'erflowed  her  eyes  and 
face  ;  but,  dashing  them  away,  she  knelt  by  the  side 
of  her  mothers  chair,  and  lifting  her  eyes  once  more 
Heavenward,  asked  her  Father  in  Heaven  to  go 
forth  with  her  and  her  beloved  ones,  and  lead  them 
to  a  place  of  safety.  Then,  rising  from  her  lowly 
posture,  she  braced  herself  for  the  trying  ordeal. 

By  this   time  all  the  inhabitants  had  fled  to  the 


i6 


Rachel  Die  Mont, 


In  God  is  our  Trust. 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       1 7 

woods,  and  different  places  they  thought  safe,  sav- 
ing what  they  could.  Already  had  the  torch  been 
applied  to  the  dwellings  on  the  outskirts  of  the  vil- 
lage, by  the  scouts,  and  the  lurid  flames  threw  an 
unearthly  light  over  the  face  and  figure  of  little 
Rachel  in  her  holiday  dress.  The  men  and  women 
servants  had  all  collected  about  her,  waiting  for  her 


Rachel  asking  her  Father  in  Heaven  for  guidance. 

to  lead  them  forth.  Every  eye  was  on  the  little 
maid,  and  every  arm  ready  to  be  raised  in  her  de- 
fense. As  she  left  the  house,  she  had  caught  up  a 
red  scarf,  which  had  lain  in  the  hall,  which  she  care- 
lessly threw  over  her  shoulder  and  draped  around 
her  waist,  thus  unconsciously,  with  the  blue  skirt, 
3 


1 8  Rachel  DuMont. 

and  white  tunic,  girding  herself  with  her  country's 
colors.  Happy  augury !  Thus  was  our  little  "  Lieu- 
tenant-General" robed  for  the  fiery  trial,  through 
which  she  was  to  pass.  Then  stepping  quickly  in  the 
midst  of  the  waiting  servants,  with  sparkling  eyes, 
though  her  face  was  pale,  with  firm  voice,  lifting  her 
right  hand  over  her  head  she  said  :  "  In  God  is  our 
trust !  Come,  my  well-loved  !  We  will  not  be  afraid  ! 
He  who  led  His  chosen  people  through  the  waters 
of  the  Red  Sea,  —  He  shall  be  with  us  !  And  though 
the  fiery  flames  envelop  us,  He  will  be  at  our  side 
and  lead  us  forth  unharmed." 


CHAPTER  II. 

]0  did  this  truly  inspired  child  breathe  hope 
and  confidence  in  the  little  band  under  her 
guidance.  And  valorously  did  she  march 
at  the  head  of  her  followers,  never  flagging,  until 
she  had  safely  guided  them  over  the  waters  to 
the  desired  haven.  Then  her  thoughts  quickly  went 
back  to  the  old  home.  Suddenly  as  though  some 
one  had  been  forgotten,  she  darted  away,  and  fairly 
flew  to  the  grounds  which  had  so  long  yielded  all 
the  supplies  of  the  family.  It  was  just  about  har- 
vest time  and  the  beautiful  fields  of  corn  were  wav- 
ing and  bowing  with  their  tasseled  helmets,  seeming 
like  a  great  army  of  warriors,  to  protect  this  lone 
little  girl.  The  buckwheat  was  also  in  its  most 
beauteous  of  dress,  frisking  and  gamboling  with  the 
soft  breeze,  as  though  no  ruthless  sword,  nor  flaming 
torch,  were  even  then  held  over  its  head.  All  was 
serene  and  peaceful,  just  for  that  moment,  as  the 
ominous  lull,  that  so  often  precedes  the  outburst  of 
the  storm.  The  child  saw  it  and  felt  it  all !  Never 
could  she  forget  these  beautiful  fields  ripe  for  har- 
vest, swaying  and  bending  with  their  precious 
sheaves.  They  were  graven  on  her  heart  never  to 
be  erased.      Neither  could  perish  from  her  memory 


20  Rachel  DuMont, 

the  sense  of  impending  woe,  which  now  weighed 
upon  her  like  some  terrible  nightmare.  What  had 
brought  her  back  to  her  home?  She  had  thought 
of  the  cows,  chickens  and  pigs  that  were  in  the  barn- 
yard near  the  house,  and  she  had  come  to  save  these 
animals,  if  possible,  even  at  the  risk  of  her  own  life, 
or  of  being  taken  prisoner,  which  was  worse  than 
death.  The  cows  were  Rachel's  especial  pets,  and 
their  soft,  dreamy  eyes  had  ever  a  strange  fascina- 
tion for  the  little  girl.  They  were  wont  to  follow 
her,  and  come  at  her  call,  as  did  the  chickens,  large 
and  small,  and  even  the  great,  fat  mother-swine,  with 
her  family  of  nine  frisky  pigs,  never  for  an  instant 
hesitated  when  Rachel  spoke.  So  now,  as  she  ab- 
ruptly appeared  among  them  and  said  "  come  !  "  the 
entire  "  caravan,"  as  one,  sprang  to  do  her  bidding. 
With  the  inborn  knowledge  of  coming  events  which 
animals  largely  possess,  they  had  scented  danger  in 
the  air,  and  plainly  showed  by  their  manner,  their 
delight,  when  their  deliverer  came  for  their  rescue. 

Rachel,  with  all  these  friends  closely  following 
her,  turned  her  steps  to  the  largest  corn-field  —  the 
most  remote  from  the  house  and  village,  and  where 
there  was  a  spring  of  good  water,  and  field  of  grass 
adjoining.  There  she  led  her  flock  in  "  richest, 
greenest  pastures,  beside  the  still  waters."  Then 
telling  them  to  stay  there  until  she  came,  she  patted 
the  cows'  faces,  with  their  sad  eyes  turned  to  hers, 
and  even  stopped  to  say  something  in  an  unknown 
tongue  to  the  pretty,  soft,  little  chickens,  and  chubby, 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       2 1 


Come  ! 


22  Rachel  DuMont. 

awkward  pigs,  who  seemed  to  understand.  At  least 
they  kept  their  eyes  fixed  upon  their  little  mistress, 
and  quietly  remained  where  she  had  placed  them. 

"  Good-bye,  good-bye,  dear,  old  darlings  ! "  called 
Rachel,  as  lightly  she  sprang  over  the  log  fence.  "  I 
will  come  for  you  as  soon  as  I  can  ! "  The  child 
never  forgot  to  reassure  even  an  animal.  She  was 
their  best  friend,  and  with  true  instinct  they  knew  it, 
as  they  showed  by  always  coming  to  her  when  sick, 
or  hurt,  and  bringing  their  young  too,  for  comfort. 


CHAPTER  III. 

HE  field  where  Rachel  had  left  her  "pets" 
was  very  near  to  the  creek,  which  was  yet 
to  be  forded.  The  water  had  now  risen 
much  higher,  and  was  well  calculated  to  intimidate 
an  older  person  than  our  heroine.  Still,  nothing 
daunted,  the  little  girl  espied  some  rocks  here  and 
there,  jutting  their  uneven,  ragged  edges  above  the 
water.  So  she  thought  she  could  jump  or  spring 
from  stone  to  stone,  and  thus  reach  her  beloved 
mother  and  father,  sisters  and  brother.  She  was  the 
best  dancer  of  the  village  maidens,  and  a  famed  adept 
in  dancing  the  minuet.  Perhaps,  young  friends,  you 
know  all  about  these  old-fashioned  dances  from  your 
great,  great  grandmothers ;  so  I  will  only  say,  that 
to  dance  well  in  olden  times,  one  had  to  be  very  lithe 
and  agile,  and  be  able  to  jump  a  little  —  gracefully, 
of  course.  Thus  our  brave  little  Rachel  soon  was 
leaping  from  one  rock  to  another  like  some  young 
deer,  choosing  the  most  perilous  places.  And  very 
beautiful  was  the  sight  of  this  young  girl  with  her 
gay  dress  and  floating,  red  scarf,  poised  on  stone 
after  stone,  with  all  the  speed  and  grace  of  a  fawn. 
Her  cap  had  fallen  off  in  the  water,  and  the  chest- 
nut hair,  gleaming  with   gold   in   the  sunlight,   fell 


24  Rachel  DuMont, 

over  her   shoulders,   below   the  waist   in    the    most 
attractive  neglige. 

Now  she  stands  perfectly  still,  posed  on  a  rock 
which  seems  too  far  away  from  another  to  leap,  yet 
once.  She  had  unconsciously  taken  the  most  grace- 
ful of  postures.  One  foot  slightly  forward  of  the 
other,  standing  on  tip-toe,  she  was  looking  where  to 
take  the  next  step.  Forward  she  could  not  go  ;  and, 
turning  in  desperation  partly,  to  her  old  home,  she 
caught  sight  of  the  British  army  —  crossing  the  low- 
lands —  entering  Kingston.  It  was  then  about  twelve 
o'clock,  and  the  sun  shone  directly  down  on  the 
brightly  polished,  arms  and  red  uniform  of  the  sol- 
diers, making  them  to  glisten  with  brilliance,  which  so 
entranced  the  child  —  she  could  not  move.  The  soft, 
low  beat  of  the  drum  had  also  reached  her  ear,  and 
she,  the  child  of  a  soldier,  full  of  martial  enthusiasm, 
forgot  everything  but  the  glittering  array  and  bril- 
liant approach  of  a  grand  army,  with  drums  and  fifes, 
playing  well-known  old  airs.  Rachel  had  ever  been 
a  strange  child,  keenly  sensitive  to  all  impressions, 
and  had  often  been  rallied  upon  her  "  queer  ways." 
Now  she  saw  and  felt  nothing  but  the  dazzling 
splendor  of  this  grand  army  of  marching  soldiers  in 
shining  armor.  She  was  fairly  enchained  to  the 
spot.  She  thought  not  of  her  danger,  but  was  filled 
with  childish  ecstacy  and  delight  at  the  brilliant 
pageant.  Her  French  nature  fairly  reveled  in  the 
bright  colors  of  the  British,  and  their  glistening 
guns,  and  she  could  not  take  her  eyes  away.     The 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       25 

sun,  as  I  have  said,  shone  so  directly  upon  them,  and 
so  intensified  the  glittering,  that  Rachel  was  obliged 
to  shade  her  eyes  with  her  hands,  that  she  might 
still  gaze  on.  Would  that  some  one  of  our  gifted 
American  artists  could  have  transferred  to  canvas 
this  child-woman  as  she  there  stood  amid  the  waters 
of  the  Esopus  creek.  No  other  would  be  needed  to 
immortalize  his  genius  or  skill.  Noble,  heroic 
maiden !  Lifted  above  and  out  of  herself  and 
hazardous  surroundings,  and  intently  looking  with  a 
child's  artlessness  and  fearlessness  upon  this  band  of 
marauders  that  were  to  lay  desolate  her  fondly-loved 
home. 

Rachel  remained  in  this  strange  position,  with  her 
hands  still  shading  her  eyes,  perfectly  motionless, 
still  gazing  at  the  moving  army,  slowly  entering  the 
village  —  many  minutes.  The  flames  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town,  where  the  scouts  had  applied  the 
torch,  were  increasing  rapidly.  Already  the  wind 
was  carrying  the  cinders  from  the  burning  barns  all 
around  this  fairy  Undine,  on  her  island  in  the  sea, 
and  the  smoke  of  the  falling  homes  had  reached  the 
heart  of  the  little  maid,  well  nigh  suffocating  her. 
She  could  not  longer  look  toward  this  flaming  mass. 
Suddenly  she  awoke  to  a  sense  of  her  dangerous 
situation.  Hot,  blinding  tears  shut  out  all  the  glit- 
tering arms  and  bright  uniforms,  and  the  cries  of  the 
dazed  inhabitants  from  their  different  coverts 
drowned  the  music  of  drum  and  fife.  Yes,  Rachel 
was  awake,  and  fully  roused  to  the  import  of  what 
4 


26  Rachel  DuMont. 

was  impending.  She  must  reach  her  parents !  They 
would  be  agonized  at  her  delay !  Summoning  all  her 
courage  and  again  lifting  eyes  and  heart  heavenward, 
she  gave  the  leap  —  to  what  ?  But  the  ever-loving 
Father  had  His  eye  on  this  brave  child !  His  arms 
were  about  her !  Distinctly  she  felt  the  unseen 
Presence,  and  submitted  to  the  Strength  which  she 
knew  environed  her.  Her  feet  now  rested  on  the 
Rock,  sure  and  steadfast !  She  was  saved !  The 
waters  did  seem  to  roll  back  !  And  a  path  was  made 
whereon  the  little  girl  reached  the  opposite  shore  in 
safety. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

[ERY  proudly  Rachel  stepped  on  tcrra-firma 
once  more  with  a  heart  overflowing  with 
gratitude  to  the  dear  Friend  who  had  so 
truly  been  with  her.  The  little  sisters  and  brother, 
with  the  servants,  had  been  watching  her  from  the 
shore,  powerless  to  help.  As  the  child  leaped  in  the 
arms  extended  toward  her,  unscathed,  arose  such  a 
cry  of  thanksgiving  and  praise  as  only  a  negro's  fer- 
vent nature  can  send  forth.  "  Our  little  missy  !  Our 
little  missy!  Jesus  did  carry  de  little  lamb  in  His 
bosom  ober  de  rolling  water!  Bress  de  Lor  !  Bress 
de  Lor  !     Hallelujah,  Hallelujah  ! " 

The  little  girl,  quiet,  but  beaming  with  joy,  soon 
hushed  the  kindly  enthusiastic  though  rather  noisy 
demonstrations  of  her  staunch  friends,  and  hastened, 
surrounded  by  this  "  guard  o'  the  leal,"  to  her 
anxious  parents.  They  had  taken  refuge  at  an  old 
farm-house  about  a  mile  from  the  creek,  and  were 
each  on  a  rude  settee,  watching  for  their  hearts'  idol. 
As  they  saw  her  approaching  and  knew  that  she  was 
safe,  the  mother  fainted.  The  long  watching,  with 
the  terrible  uncertainty,  had  almost  snapped  the 
thread  of  life  ;  and  when  the  darling  figure  of  her 
child,  her  first-born,  was  seen  in  the  distance,  the 
reaction  nearly  proved  fatal. 


28  Rachel  DuMont, 

Touching  indeed  was  the  solicitude  of  the  sick 
husband  and  father  in  trying  to  arouse  the  drooping 
form  of  his  wife;  "She  is  here!  She  is  here!"  the 
poor  man  called  to  his  swooning  companion. 
Slowly,  the  eyes  opened,  a  faint  color  came  to  her 
cheek,  and  Rachel's  mother  lived  to  clasp  her 
beloved  to  her  heart  once  more.  Too  sacred  was 
the  scene  now  to  lift  the  veil,  even  though  one  hun- 
dred years  have  cast  their  soft,  mellow  haze  over  the 
touching  picture.  The  little  maid,  robed  in  the 
"  red,  white  and  blue,"  kneeling  beside  the  reclining 
parents,  while  the  brother  and  sisters  and  servants 
pressed  close  about  her :  the  father,  in  strong  voice, 
sent  earnest  thanksgiving  to  the  Heavenly  Father, 
for  restoring  to  them  their  child.  "Amen  and 
amen!"  "  Bress  de  Lor'!"  were  the  frequent  re- 
sponses and  ejaculations,  breaking  in  upon  or 
enhancing  this  hallowed  hour. 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       29 


Rachel  restored  to  her  Parents. 


CHAPTER  V. 

|JND  now  the  family  were  ai-viasse,  watch- 
ing the  progress  of  the  terrible  fire-fiend, 
which  they  could  very  clearly  trace.  With 
suffused  eyes  and  beating  hearts,  entwined  in  each 
others'  arms,  silently  they  witnessed  home  after 
home  succumb  and  fall  before  the  destroyer.  Their 
own  beloved  walls  were  among  the  last  to  be  con- 
sumed by  the  flames.  Slowly,  yet  surely,  the  stealthy 
foe  crept  and  hissed  with  forked  tongue  over  the 
doomed  village !  Its  fate  was  sealed !  The  old 
Dutch  settlement  was  to  be  totally  destroyed  by  the 
enemy.  I  say  totally  —  yet  there  was  one  barn 
saved,  in  which  a  very  pious  old  man  had  for  many 
years,  every  day,  sent  up  sincere,  heart-breathed 
petitions  to  Him  who  watcheth  above. 

And  one  house  was  left  intact,  where  General 
Washington  made  his  head-quarters  when  in  this 
vicinity.  And  the  unroofed  walls  of  the  old  stone 
mansion  in  which  Rachel's  grandfather  lived,  and 
which  had  the  honor  of  being  the  first  Senate  House 
of  the  State  of  New  York.  This  old  house  also 
became  the  residence  of  Major  VanGaasbeck,  a 
brother-in-law  of  our  little  heroine,  and  a  member 
of  the   first   Congress    of  the    United   States.      His 


32  Rachel  D  it  Mont. 

portrait,  a  beautiful  painting  on  ivory,  in  powdered 
wig,  ruffled  linen  at  the  bosom  and  wrists  and  "  small 
clothes,"  is  one  of  the  interesting  features  of  this 
quaint  old  building,  which  is  still  standing,  the  home 
of  a  grandchild  of  little  Rachel. 

Pardon  my  little  digressions,  young  friends.  So 
many  incidents  crowd  upon  my  heart  and  brain  as  I 
am  chronicling  this  biography,  which  were  told  me 
in  my  childhood  by  my  grandmother,  the  brave  little 
maid  of  the  Revolution,  that  it  seems  almost  im- 
possible not  to  turn  aside  from  the  laid-out  path, 
once-in-a-while,  and  pluck  these  little  stray  blossoms 
from  the  storehouse  of  memory.  Remember,  I  am 
writing  a  true  story,  which  I  think  will  teach  you 
many  a  lesson  of  bravery,  unselfishness,  endurance 
and  fortitude. 


',/ 


Portrait  of  Major  Van  Gaasbeck. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HE  sun  had  gone  down  some  time  before 
the  fire  seemed  to  be  burnt  out  for  want  of 
material.     Greedily    it    had    cried,    "  more, 

until  there  was  no  more  to  give.  Nothing 
but  a  desert  of  ashes  remained  where  once  the 
beautiful  hamlet  gladdened  the  eyes  and  hearts  of 
its  inhabitants.  Oh,  desolation  of  desolations ! 
Verily,  "  its  walls  were  laid  even  with  the  ground, 
and  its  children  rose  up  and  called  it  desolate!" 
What  a  sunset  was  this  !  The  whole  sky  blazing 
with  the  lurid  reflections,  while  all  over  the  fallen 
village,  impenetrable  masses  of  thick,  black  smoke. 
God  alone  could  sustain  the  fugitives,  and  truly 
He  did.  They  lost  neither  faith  nor  courage,  but 
quietly  waited  for  the  rift  in  the  cloud. 

It  was  most  morning  before  Rachel  could  be  in- 
duced to  take  any  rest.  She  had  passed  through  so 
much  on  this  eventful  day  that  to  sleep  seemed  hun- 
dreds of  years  away.  Beside,  she  was  on  guard 
over  her  darling  parents  and  younger  children,  and 
she  knew  not  what  might  happen,  as  long  as  the 
British  soldiers  were  not  miles  and  miles  off.  No, 
Rachel  could  not  sleep  !  She  must  watch  through 
the  darkness  until  the  day  should  dawn. 


A   Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       35 

Telling  the  servants  to  be  in  readiness,  should 
they  be  needed,  this  unselfish,  self-sacrificing  child, 
persuaded  her  parents,  with  the  children,  to  retire 
for  the  night.  After  all  was  quiet,  the  little  girl 
began  to  think  over  all  that  had  happened  during 
the  day.  She  felt  that  some  strange  change  had 
come  over  her  own  nature  in  the  last  few  hours. 
She  had  become  a  woman  in  heart  and  mind.  Yes, 
her  childhood's  days  had  been  consumed  by  the  same 
scorching  flames  that  had  interrupted  and  stopped 
all  the  games  and  festivities  of  her  birthday  fete. 
Truly,  Rachel  had  been  baptized  with  fire !  And 
she  had  come  forth  freed  from  alloy.  Yet,  she  was 
only  a  woman,  and  as  such  could  not  help  clinging 
to  the  remembrance  of  many  a  household  treasure 
buried  beneath  the  ruins  of  her  once  happy  home. 
Sincere  tears  flowed  over  her  cheeks  while  thinking 
that  she  should  see  these  endeared  relics  no  more. 
And  then  the  eyes  of  the  woman-child  went  down 
to  her  feet  to  see  if  her  silver  buckles  —  her  only 
ornaments  —  were  safe.  This  was  the  first  she  had 
thought  of  them.  And,  alas !  one  was  gone !  It 
must  have  been  washed  away  by  the  waters  in  that 
terrible  crossing  of  the  creek.  Poor  little  Rachel, 
who  had  so  bravely  stood  almost  within  the  range 
of  the  enemy's  guns  without  the  slightest  fear,  and 
without  shedding  a  tear,  was  now  quite  heart-broken 
over  the  loss  of  only  a  shoe-buckle.  Do  not  think 
she  was  foolish,  reader.  They  had  been  given  to 
her  by  a  dear  playmate,  a  boy,  a  few  years  her  senior, 


36 


Rachel  DuMont, 


as  he  bade  her  good-bye  two  years  before,  and 
marched  off  to  the  music  of  the  drum  and  fife  to 
join  the  army  fighting  for  his  country.  Tears  had 
been  in  the  lad's  eyes  as  he  placed  these  souvenirs 


' '  Good-bye,  Rachel !  keep  these  until  I  come  back  to  you,  and  wear  them 
for  my  sake. " 

in  the  little  maid's  hands,  and  very  tremulous  was 
the  voice  that  said:  "Good-bye,  Rachel  !  keep  these 
until  I  come  back  to  you,  and  wear  them  for  my 
sake."     With   both    his  hands  clasping  the  one  the 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       37 

young  girl  outstretched  to  him,  the  children  stood 
perfectly  quiet,  with  only  Heaven  to  witness  the 
parting.  Yet  each  felt  the  choking  sensation  that 
would  not  permit  the  expressing  in  words  the 
thoughts  welling  up  in  either  breast.  They  were 
too  much  in  awe  to  kiss  each  other,  yet  a  certain 
something  passed  from  heart  to  heart,  and  flashed 
from  eye  to  eye,  revealing  that  their  destinies  were 
forever  inseparable. 

And  now,  that  one  link  intrusted  to  her  care  was 
missing,  this  was  too  much  for  our  little  "  Lieutenant- 
General  "  to  endure  without  the  relief  of  tears.  But 
I  must  give  her  the  credit  of  not  long  giving  way  to 
what  she  thought  a  selfish  wrong  at  such  a  time,  and 
heroically  drying  her  eyes,  she  placed  the  remaining 
buckle  next  her  heart,  where  she  would  wear  it  until 
the  dear  one  came.  Not  a  very  romantic  keep-sake, 
my  youthful  friend:  still  remember  it  was  not  quite 
as  easy  one  hundred  years  ago  to  give  rings,  and 
locked  bracelets,  as  pledges  of  love.  And  the  silver 
buckles,  which  had  been  the  boy's  grandfather's  in 
his  English  home,  were  the  most  precious  of  treas- 
ures to  the  country  lad.  And  just  because  they 
were  so  dearly  cherished,  did  he  give  them  to  the 
little  girl  he  loved.  To  tell  the  truth,  Rachel  in  so 
quickly  wiping  away  her  tears,  had  felt  that  she 
would  in  some  way  soon  again  obtain  possession  of 
the  little  piece  of  her  heart  lost  that  day.  Her 
sensitiveness  to  impressions  was  very  great,  and  she 
had   often  shocked  the  good  old  Holland-Dutch  by 


3§ 


Rachel  DuMont, 


saying  so-and-so  would  happen — she  felt  it  in  the  air. 
It  was  her  French  blood,  the  little  maiden  said,  which 
made  her  feel  things  before  the  more  stolid  Dutch. 
And  she  seemed  so  earnest  in  her  beliefs,  that  no 
one  had  the  heart  to  contradict  her,  although  they 


WW'////  % '"'""- 

Rachel  falls  asleep. 

could  not  understand  the  child's  moods.  She  was 
their  darling  and  they  trusted  her.  The  morning 
had  dawned  before  Rachel  would  give  slumber  to 
her  eye-lids  or  sleep  to  her  eyes.  Then  lying  on  a 
rude  "  bunk,"  a  clumsy  wooden  sofa-bedstead,  with- 
out pillow  or  blanket,  she  fell  asleep. 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       39 

It  was  nearly  noon  before  she  awoke,  with  the 
happiest  smile  on  her  face,  and  some  great  joy  quiv- 
ering on  her  lips — the  impressions  and  recollections 
of  a  dream,  too  good  to  tell — of  her  absent  playmate 
and  absent  shoe-buckle.  All  the  little  girl  would 
disclose  was  that  she  had  seen  the  silver  buckle  as 
in  her  dream  she  was  crossing  the  creek  with  the 
dear  friend  who  had  given  them  to  her,  and  who 
seemed  to  be  a  tall  man  in  the  dress  of  an  officer  in 
the  American  army.  Rachel's  happiness  cheered  all 
the  family.  And  with  the  light  of  another  day  they 
took  a  new  view  of  the  calamity  which  had  come  to 
them.  Their  lives  had  been  spared,  and  they  had 
found  a  place  of  refuge,  where  they  could  stay,  until 
they  might  erect  some  sort  of  log-hut  for  the  winter 
months.  And  best  of  all,  the  "  Britishers "  had 
evacuated  the  town.  This  news  had  come  to  them 
early  in  the  day,  so  their  hearts  could  be  at  rest 
about  new  depredations  near  them. 

The  red-coats  had  learned  that  a  portion  of  the 
American  army  under  General  George  Clinton, — 
afterward  Governor  of  the  State  of  New  York  for 
twenty-one  years, —  was  marching  to  the  relief  of 
the  terrified  inhabitants,  and  very  prudently  had 
hastened  away  after  making  sure  to  capture  and 
burn  all  provisions.  They  did  not  pursue  the  flee- 
ing villagers,  but  speedily  traveled  off  with  their 
spoils. 

When  Rachel  learned  that  the  British  had  fled, 
she  insisted   upon  immediately  going  to  see  about 


40  Rachel  DuMont. 

the  animals  she  had  left  in  the  corn-field.  But  her 
parents  were  so  fearful  some  red-coat  might  be 
prowling  about  still,  to  quiet  their  fears,  reluctantly 
she  waited.  The  ruins  were  yet  smoking  and  burn- 
ing and  none  of  the  fugitives  dared  to  go  back,  until 
it  was  certain  that  the  enemy  had  departed  —  every 
man.  Do  not  think  they  were  cowards,  young 
readers.  They  were  without  weapons  or  any  means 
of  defense, —  these  old  and  sick  men  and  women  and 
young  children ;  and  to  be  taken  prisoner  was  too 
dreadful  to  think  of.  So  they  waited  until  our  own 
soldiers  had  come  to  their  relief  a  few  days  later. 
In  this  battalion,  sent  too  late  to  save  the  beautiful 
hamlet,  were  the  fathers,  husbands,  brothers  and 
sons  of  the  burnt  homes,  and  touching  beyond 
words  were  the  meetings  of  the  separated  families. 
Language  cannot  portray  these  scenes.  Your 
hearts  alone,  dear  readers,  can  paint  them.  When 
the  army  arrived  in  sight  of  these  blackened  ruins, 
the  officer  in  command  gave  the  order  to  these  hus- 
bands, sons,  fathers  and  brothers  to  go  forth  and 
seek  their  loved  ones. 

The  brave  lad,  Rachel's  playmate,  who  had  grown 
a  tall  youth  of  eighteen  —  Tjerck  Beekman,  was  his 
name — and  had  risen  to  the  dignity  of  a  Lieutenant's 
epaulettes,  quickly  found  the  whereabouts  of  the 
young  maid  of  his  dreams. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

ACHEL  was  standing  on  the  borders  of  the 
creek  which  separated  her  from  her  child- 
hood's home,  watching  the  still  burning 
ruins  and  listening  to  the  drum  and  fife  in  the  dis- 
tance, which  intuitively  she  knew  to  be  the  notes 
that  relief  —  joy  had  come.  Clasping  her  hands 
over, her  heart,  which  wildly  throbbed  with  all  she 
felt  in  the  air,  she  saw  approaching  a  young  officer 
in  American  uniform.  Tall  and  graceful,  his  sword 
sheathed  at  his  side,  he  was  leaping  from  rock  to 
rock,  with  all  the  intrepidity  with  which  a  true  man 
conquers  "the  lions  in  his  path,"  or  surmounts  the 
obstacles  which  intervene  between  him  and  his  loved 
one.  As  he  neared  the  spot  where  the  young  girl 
stood,  still  robed  in  her  country's  colors,  he  felt  that 
it  was  indeed  Rachel.  The  blood  mounted  to  his 
brow,  in  spite  of  his  soldier-clothes,  and  the  brave 
officer's  heart  gave  some  very  portentous  leaps  to- 
ward his  mouth,  as  he  now,  rather  tremblingly,  drew 
close  to  the  shore. 

And  our  little    "Lieutenant-General!"     She  saw 
and  conquered  her  unruly  heart !     For  was  she  not 
more  than  a  soldier,  even  a  Lieutenant?     Was  she 
not  a  true  woman  ? 
6 


42 


Rachel  DuMont, 


"He  felt  that  it  was  indeed  Rachel. 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       43 

With  apparent  sang-froid,  although  with  burning 
cheeks  and  beaming  eyes,  she  issued  her  orders  :  "  Be 
careful  !  Look  well  before  you  leap  !  Salute  your  — 
General  ! " — which  last  command  was  not  obeyed  in 
strictly  orthodox  military  fashion.  An  old  croaking 
turtle  on  the  rock  told  Rachel's  mother  —  although 
Rachel  never  entered  any  complaint  of  insubordina- 
tion. As  there  were  no  eye-witnesses  to  the  meeting 
save  the  old  turtle-croaker,  and  he  quickly  drew  his 
head  within  his  shell,  I  will  have  to  skip  what  I  con- 
fess is  just  the  most  interesting  part  of  the  story  to 
me  —  an  old  married  woman.  But,  as  my  grand- 
mother—  little  Rachel  —  always  left  a  sort  of  blank 
page  at  this  terminus  of  the  "jumping  and  leaping," 
I  never  knew  exactly  how  much  of  a  leap  was  that 
last  one  of  the  young  soldier.  Any  way  I  think  it 
was  made  safely  at  the  feet  of  little  Rachel,  who,  I 
can  say  this  much,  warmly  welcomed  her  old  play- 
mate from  the  depths  of  the  heart,  fortified  by  the 
mailed  armor  of  a  huge  silver  shoe-buckle,  which 
you  know,  young  friends,  could  not  be  very  invin- 
cible. 

Turning  their  steps  toward  the  old  farm-house, 
where  the  family  of  Rachel  was  sheltered,  the  youth- 
ful lovers  (can  I  use  the  word  in  its  holiest  sense  ?) 
with  hearts  too  full  to  talk,  quietly  side  by  side, 
wafted  as  sweet  incense  toward  Heaven,  their  over- 
flowing gratitude  and  love.  This  was  their  uncon- 
scious betrothal,  too  pure  and  sacred  for  us  to  linger 
upon,  although  so  many  years  have  passed  since 
Heaven  sanctioned  this  silent  plighted  troth. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

EFORE  the  old-fashioned  porch  of  the 
farm-house  was  reached  Rachel  told  her 
friend  of  the  missing  shoe-buckle,  and  of 
her  grief,  and  then  of  the  impression  that  she  would 
find  it,  but  nothing  did  the  little  girl  say  of  her 
happy  dream.  That  was  hers  alone  still.  Not  yet 
could  she  divulge  this  secret,  even  to  her  returned 
cher  ami.  The  young  officer's  eyes  sparkled  with  an 
amused  expression,  as  Rachel,  with  artless  nawetey 
spoke  of  her  great  loss,  and  then  so  quickly  "knew 
she  would  find  it."  Tjerck  well  remembered  this 
hopeful,  joyous,  bright  side  of  the  child's  character, 
and  with  pleasure  found  that  the  years  had  left  her 
with  all  her  childhood's  faith  and  trust. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  place  of  refuge 
of  the  family  of  the  little  girl,  whom  for  so  long 
the  young  soldier  had  fondly  watched  over  and 
cherished.  Time  had  only  strengthened  this  boyish 
love,  and  Rachel  was  the  bright,  particular  star  that 
influenced  all  his  destiny.  Her  presence  had  been 
with  him  through  all  the  trying,  severe  experiences 
of  the  last  two  years,  and  nothing  could  sever,  no  not 
even  death — the  firm  cable-link  closely  binding  the 
woman-child's  heart  to  his  own.     And  now,  as  she 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution,       45 

led  him  before  her  surprised  mother  and  father,  with 
parents'  hearts,  they  felt  at  once  this  bond  of  union. 
With  a  son's  tenderness,  Tjerck  greeted  them  and 
the  little  ones.  Truth  compels  me  to  add  that  these 
children  almost  demolished  the  worn  uniform  of 
their  soldier-friend.     The  sword  and  epaulettes  had 


peculiar  attractions  for  the  little  boy,  the  "  Benja- 
min "  of  the  household,  and  very  proudly  did  he 
strut  over  the  wide  old  porch,  with  the  sword,  in  its 
scabbard,  dangling  at  his  side.  He  was  a  true  hero, 
in  miniature,  that  would  "defend  mother,  and  father 
and  sister,  right  before  the  enemy's  guns,  when  they 
were  fired  off !  ". 


46  Rachel  DitMont. 

After  spending  some  few  minutes  in  talking  of  the 
terrible  misfortune,  and  finding  out  the  exact  situa- 
tion of  these  exiles,  the  young  Lieutenant  proposed 
going  to  the  old  house  to  see  if  anything  was  left. 

Rachel,  who  had  been  so  longing  to  go  to  her 
pets  for  many  days,  insisted  upon  accompanying 
him.  Gladly  would  her  old  playmate  have  spared 
her  the  sight  of  her  beloved  home  lying  in  ashes,  but 
the  brave  girl  told  him  that  she  had  promised  these 
dear  friends  to  come  as  soon  as  she  could,  and  she 
knew  they  must  be  in  despair  at  her  delay,  if  they 
were  still  alive.  So  she  overcame  the  scruples  and  ob- 
jections of  the  young  man  and  her  cautious  parents, 
and  made  ready  for  the  expedition.  Telling  Pompey 
to  bring  one  of  the  horses  which  was  accustomed  to 
fording  the  creek  for  Lieutenant  Beekman  to  mount, 
she  retired  to  make  some  few  preparations  for  her 
journey. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HEN  Rachel  returned,  being  absent  only  a 
few  minutes,  she  had  draped  a  scarlet  cloth 
cloak  belonging  to  her  mother  about  her 
slight  form,  in  lieu  of  a  riding-habit,  and  most  pictur- 
esque was  the  costume.  With  whatever  this  little 
maid  robed  herself  there  was  always  a  grace  and  a 
charm  very  unusual  in  one  so  young.  (This  scarlet 
cloak  is  in  a  pretty  well-preserved  state,  the  inheri- 
ted legacy  of  one  of  little  Rachel's  great  grandchil- 
dren.) Finding  her  escort  with  the  favorite  family 
horse  in  readiness,  unassisted  she  sprang  on  the  pil- 
lion of  the  saddle,  with  all  the  nonchalance  of  a 
"  Child  of  the  Regiment,"  followed  quickly  by  the 
young  Lieutenant,  who  took  his  place  directly  in 
front  of  her.  This  fashion  of  riding  was  an  old  cus- 
tom, considered  perfectly  au  fait  a  hundred  years 
ago.  Pompey  was  not  exactly  pleased  to  see  his 
young  "missy"  going  away  in  the  company  of  a 
handsome  young  soldier,  and  rolled  his  eyes  from 
one  to  another  as  if  trying  to  gauge  the  situation. 
He  had  refrained  from  speaking,  but  now  when 
Rachel  had  vaulted  so  lightly  on  the  back  of  the 
horse,  he  could  stand  it  no  longer.  Looking  very 
grave,  and  showing  all   the  whites  of  his  eyes,  he 


4« 


Rachel  DuMont* 


said:  "  Missy  Rachel,  let  Pompey  go  wid  de  young 
gemmen  !  Little  Missy  can't  do  nuffin  in  war  times  ! 
Me  and  de  hofficer  '11  tend  to  ebery  ting,  and  be 
company  for  each  oder  too.  Yer'll  be  arful  lonely 
widout  yer  Mar  and  Par,  missy  !  and  sojers  isn'  'cus- 
somed  to  young  ladies !  Dis  one  can't  take  no  car  ob 
yer.  Now  jes  lissen  to  Pompey,  and  jump  right  off 
dat  hoss's  back,  an'  go  on  de  piazzer  wid  yer  mudder 
and  fadder.  Pompey  is  de  boy  wot'll  fix  dem  red 
fellers.      Heisn'feard" — 


liLordy  Massy!  dem  Britishers  am  comin'  agin." 

Just  then  the  American  army  were  firing  a  gun 
to  tell  the  hour  of  noon,  and  Pompey  took  to  his 
heels  for  the  house,  exclaiming,  "  Lordy  Massy ;  dem 
Britishers  am  comin'  agin  !  —  Good  Mr.  Lordie,  spare 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       49 

dis  poor  family,  an'  de  niggers,  too  ;  ole  Grannie,  she's 
ole  an'  sick,  an'  wan's  to  die,  so  takes  her  fust,  if  yer 
mus  hab  some  un.  An  Dad  he  can  go  wid  her  fer 
comp'ny.  Pompey  has  too  many  wimmen  and  chil- 
lens  to  take  car  ob  ;  he  can'  be  spar'd  jes  yet ! " 


"Cum  out,  yer  nigger,  an  don  spile  all  dem  new  taters." 

In  vain  did  Rachel  and  Lieutenant  Beekman  call 
to  the  frightened  boy,  and  tell  him  it  was  not  the 
Britishers,  only  their  friends  firing  to  let  them  know 
that  they  were  near.  Pompey  was  too  scared  to  stop, 
until  he  had  hidden  from  the  red-coats  in  the  potato- 
barrel  in  the  large  dark  cellar  of  the  old  farm-house. 
7 


50  Rachel  DuMont. 

There  Uncle  Ned  found  him  half  an  hour  later,  when 
getting  the  potatoes  for  the  mid-day  meal. 

"  Lors-a-massy,  wot's  yer  doin  in  dis  tater  bar'l  ? 
Has  yer  been  bout  suffin  arful  wicked  agin,  an  feard 
de  gud  Lor'll  cotch  yer  ?  Cum  out,  yer  nigger,  an  don 
spile  all  dem  new  taters,"  said  the  pious  father. 

"  Oh,  daddie,  I  done  thort  dem  red-coats  was 
comin',  an'  I'se  so  feard  dey  take  yer  an'  ole  Grannie 
dat  I  come  in  de  cella'  to  fire  at  dem  trough  de  trap 
door.     Am  dey  come  ?  "  responded  the  valiant  son. 

"  No,  no,  chile  !  No  Britishers  '11  come  now  ! 
Didn'  yer  see  de  young  Ginral  wot's  come  fo'  de  little 
missy  ?  He's  de  brave  sojer  wot  will  take  car'  ob  us  ! 
Come  out  de  bar'l,  chile  !  De  good  Lor'  '11  take  car' 
ob  poo'  ole  Daddy  and  Grannie  !  Yer's  a  brave  boy, 
Pompey,  to  'fend  yer  'lations,  and  s'all  hab'  a  big 
piece  of  watermelion  for  yer  dinner  for  not  forgettin' 
de  ole  folks.  Some  niggers  jes'  like  some  white 
folks,  and  jes'  looks  out  for  dem  own  se'fs.  But 
yer,  Pompey,  is  a  waryer,  an'  no  mistake  !  Come, 
chile,  an'  kiss  yer  ole  Grannie  ! "  with  much  subdued 
feeling,  were  the  jerky  ejaculations  of  the  proud 
parent. 


CHAPTER   X. 

HE  young  Lieutenant,  and  still  younger 
"  Lieutenant-General,"  were  now  midway 
over  the  creek.  The  faithful  white  horse, — 
"Old  Bill," — his  sobriquet,  seemed  to  feel  highly 
honored  in  being  chosen  for  this  important  mission. 
Very  cautiously  did  he  feel  of  every  stone  before 
leaping  with  his  precious  burden.  And  though 
slowly  the  fording  was  accomplished,  it  did  not 
inconvenience  the  gallant  horseman  and  fair  com- 
panion, because  —  well,  they  had  a  great  deal  to  talk 
about  and  think  about ;  and  if  "  Old  Bill "  were  slow, 
he  was  so  sure-footed  and  knew  so  well  what  he  was 
doing,  and  who  were  on  his  back.  His  riders  trusted 
him,  and  he  felt  it.  Certainly,  if  sound  can  travel 
over  wire,  so  is  there  some  sort  of  magnetism  or 
mesmerism,  imparted  through  the  reins,  by  which 
one  handles  and  controls  the  horse.  Animals,  par- 
ticularly horses,  are  very  sensitive  to  this  magnetic 

whatever  it  may  be  called.     (Time  will  bring 

this  truth  to  the  surface.)  Rachel  clung  firmly  to 
her  pillion  and  ignored  any  other  help.  She  resolved 
when  she  started  not  to  be  an  incumbrance,  but  a 
helper.  And  resolutely  did  our  young  heroine  keep 
her  resolution.     When  at  the  spot  from  whence  the 


52 


Rachel  DuMont, 


Q^i/K  Tjf  e^P^f 


7"^  young  Lieutenant  and  still  youngei  '  'Lieutenant-General "  crossing  the 
Esopus  creek. 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       53 

little  girl  had  made  the  perilous  leap  of  a  few  days 
before,  Lieutenant  Beekman  espied  something  very 
shining  in  the  clear  water,  nestling  among  the  stones 
in  the  bed  of  the  creek.  The  sun,  which  was  high 
in  the  heavens,  caused  the  little  gem  to  emit  flash 
after  flash  from  the  surface,  dazzling  the  eyes  of  the 
young  girl  and  the  soldier.  In  an  instant  Tjerck 
sprang  from  the  horse  and  plunged  in  the  creek.  So 
quickly  had  this  been  done,  that  Rachel,  frightened 
lest  some  accident  had  happened  to  her  comrade, 
turned  very  pale,  and  would  have  fallen,  in  spite  of 
all  her  resolutions,  had  not  the  young  soldier  swiftly 
emerged  from  his  impromptu  bath  with  the  precious 
jewel  still  flashing  in  lustrous  brilliance,  like  a  cluster 
of  diamonds.  More  precious  than  the  costliest  of 
stones,  was  this  found  shoe-buckle  to  the  young  man 
and  maiden.  With  the  gallantry  of  the  most  chival- 
rous of  knights  did  the  youthful  soldier  now  kneel 
on  a  rock  and  fasten  it  on  the  slipper  or  pump  of  the 
little  maid.  While  doing  this  he  made  a  wish  that 
this  pledge,  rescued  from  the  "waters  of  trouble," 
might  prove  a  true  talisman  against  all  that  could 
harm  his  beloved.  And  Rachel,  with  all  her  old 
cognizance  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  atmosphere 
about  her,  felt  her  dear  playmate's  wish  to  protect 
her,  and  thanked  him  with  her  eyes,  although  her  lips 
were  too  tremulous  to  speak. 

"Now,  where  is  the  other  one,  Rachel?  Have 
you  it  with  you  ?  Give  it  to  me,  that  the  pair  may 
be  united  once  more.      Truly,  dear,  these    buckles 


54 


Rachel  DuMont, 


Lieutenant  Beekman  fastens  the  silver  shoe-buckle  on  the  slipper  of  Rachel. 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       55 

seem  to  be  in  perfect  sympathy  with  our  own  fates. 
They  shall  be  the  augury  of  our  friendship  and  love," 
in  a  low  clear  voice  spoke  the  young  officer.  "  Where 
is  the  other  one,  little  girl?"  Rachel,  who  did  not 
want  this  tall  "  grown-up"  gentleman  to  know  that 
she  was  wearing  a  shoe-buckle  next  her  heart,  replied  : 
"  You  must  wait  until  we  go  back  to  the  farm-house. 
I  cannot  give  it  to  you  now.  We  must  hurry  to  my 
old  pets.  My  poor  dove-eyed  cows  will  think  their 
little  mistress  has  deserted  them  for  good  ;  and  the 
dear  little  chickens  miss  me,  too  ;  I  know  they  do. 
And  the  chubby  white  pigs.  Oh,  how  I  want  to  see 
them  ally  all !     Come,  mon  ami" 

Tjerck,  jumping  on  Old  Bill's  back,  while  this  lit- 
tle ruse-de-guerre  was  transpiring,  the  trio  were  soon 
rapidly  gaining  the  Kingston  shore.  The  young  offi- 
cer was  glad  it  was  about  dinner  time  at  the  camp, 
as  the  soldiers  would  be  engaged  with  their  meal, 
and  he  could  thus  protect  the  little  maid  from  their 
questioning  eyes  and  manners.  As  soon  as  they 
reached  the  land  they  left  the  old  horse  on  some 
nice  grass  near  the  water,  and  hastened  to  the  corn- 
field with  the  rich  pasture  adjoining. 

And  now,  what  are  these  strange  noises  which 
greet  their  ears  ?  Surely  they  do  not  come  from 
what  are  called  human  throats  :  Neither  from  the 
lips  of  the  "  brute  creation."  They  are  the  rejoicing 
cries  of  long-despairing,  pent-up  souls  suddenly  re- 
lieved from  agony.  Yes,  from  the  mouths  and  hearts 
of  cows,  chickens,  and  even  pigs  come  these  unmistak- 


56  Rachel  DuMon 


able  notes  of  joy.  The  animals  had  caught  sight  of 
their  young  mistress  coming  to  them  as  she  had 
promised.  Long  had  they  watched  and  waited : 
And  now  their  delight  knew  no  bounds.  Running 
to  meet  her,  the  whole  flock  so  completely  sur- 
rounded the  little  girl  that  the  soldier  was  alarmed 
for  her  safety.  Rachel  assured  her  friend  they 
would  not  harm  her,  and  she  would  quiet  them  soon. 
For  some  minutes  did  the  cows  rub  their  faces 
against  her  habit,  looking  with  their  eyes  as  only 
cows  can  ;  the  chickens  chirping  and  hopping  about 
her,  bobbing  their  funny  little  heads  from  one  side 
to  the  other,  as  they  peeped  with  their  wee  eyes  to 
be  sure  it  was  Rachel ;  and  the  old  mother  pig,  with 
her  family  of  nine,  each  doing  its  share  of  joyous 
grunting  and  poking  at  Rachel's  feet.  A  happy  re- 
united family,  with  merry  carnival  celebrating  the 
hour  which  restored  to  them  their  loved  one.  Who 
shall  dare  to  say  that  such  animals  have  no  souls  ? 
Notes  verrons. 


CHAPTER  XL 

|00N  were  these  pets  subdued  to  quietness 
and  all  still  clustering  about  their  faithful 
friend,  they  lay  down  as  their  token,  or 
"  flag  of  truce,"  that  the  noisy  demonstrations  were 
at  an  end.  Now  the  young  pair  proceeded  to  where 
the  old  home  once  had  swung  its  inviting  open- 
doors.  Oh,  the  blackened  mass  which  met  their 
eyes  !  The  tender-hearted  youth  tried  to  turn  Rachel 
from  the  shocking  sight,  but  our  brave  little  woman, 
only  for  an  instant,  averted  her  head.  Then  taking 
her  comrade's  proffered  hand,  they  approached  the 
still  smoking  mass  of  ruins.  One  object  they  saw 
as  they  drew  close,  which  made  them  think  some 
soldiers  must  be  near.  This  was  a  large  black  kettle, 
swinging  on  an  iron  chain  over  the  old  fire-place, 
which  was  all  that  was  left  of  the  dear  home.  Rachel 
recognized  this  black  utensil  as  the  one  in  which 
Isabel  was  making  the  suppawn  (hasty  pudding)  for 
the  birthday  fete,  when  they  were  so  rudely  startled 
by  the  enemy.  Yes,  there  was  the  Indian-corn, 
browned  to  perfection,  waiting  for  the  guests  ; — and 
where  were  they  ? 

The  sight  of  the  old  kettle,  which  had  been  used 
by  Rachel's  mother  ever  since  the  little  girl  could 
8 


58 


Rachel  DuMont, 


remember,  brought  the  relief  of  tears  to  the  eyes  of 
the  homesick  child.  Passionately,  without  shame, 
did  she  convulsively  cry,  sobbing  as  in  her  early 
childhood  when  something  had  gone  wrong.  Her 
friend  did  not  try  to  stop  the  flood  of  tears,  as  he 
knew  she  could  not  be  calm  without  this  —  nature's 


The  young  girl  had  cried  herself  to  sleep." 


remedy.  The  young  man  busied  himself  in  disen- 
gaging the  crane  with  the  iron  kettle  attached,  which 
had  been  hung  over  this  family-hearth  at  the  marriage 
of  Rachets  mother  and  father.  One  of  the  feet  of 
the  iron  pot  had  succumbed  to  the  flames  which  had 
so  fiercely  pelted  upon  it,  and  the  kettle,  minus  one 
foot,  is   extant   to   this   day,    occupying   an   honored 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revohction.       59 

niche  in  the  heart  and  household  of  the  writer  of 
this  story  —  a  grandchild  of  little  Rachel. 

The  young  girl  had  cried  herself  to  sleep  as  she 
sat  on  some  of  the  charred  timbers  encircling  the 
burnt  fire-place,  with  her  head  pillowed  on  her  arm 
as  was  her  wont  in  early  childhood.  All  this  week 
of  suffering  had  vanished,  and  Rachel  once  more  was 
the  little  mistress,  the  pet  of  the  household,  sitting 
by  her  mother's  side  as  she  was  reclining  in  her 
invalid's  chair.  One  glance  at  the  young  maid's 
face,  with  the  happy  child-smile  playing  about  her 
lips,  told  her  friend  that  nature  had  truly  soothed 
and  comforted  the  weeping  girl.  She  must  not  be 
disturbed.  He  knew  she  would  soon  awake,  so  he 
remained  perfectly  quiet. 

The  constant  watching  and  excitement  of  the 
week,  with  not  much  proper  food,  had  pressed  very 
heavily  upon  the  nerves  of  the  little  woman  so 
young  in  years.  And  now  the  exhaustion  conse- 
quent upon  her  convulsive  weeping,  had  brought 
the  best  boon — "tired  nature's  sweet  restorer,  balmy 
sleep." 

Rachel  did  not  awake  quite  as  soon  as  her  com- 
rade and  friend  thought.  Yet  very  patiently  he 
occupied  the  post  of  sentinel  until  she  should  open 
her  eyes.  He  feared  to  look  at  her  steadily,  lest 
that  might  disturb  her  rest,  and  only  furtively,  once 
in  a  while,  did  he  allow  his  eyes  to  glance  at  the 
sleeping  maid.  And,  indeed,  the  young  man  was 
rapt  in  reverie.      Much  had  passed  through  his  mind 


60  Rachel  DuMont, 

and  heart  since  he  had  learned  that  the  British  army 
had  marched  toward  Kingston.  And  the  last  few 
hours  had  been  burnt  on  his  heart  and  brain  never 
to  be  effaced.  While  in  this  deep  meditation  he  was 
aroused  by  the  voice  of  Rachel,  murmuring  in  a  low 
tone  :  "  How  bright !  How  beautiful  !  That  scarlet 
uniform  I  have  seen  before  in  some  strange  land  ! 
Oram  I  dreaming?  No,  these  are  soldiers!  Brit- 
ish soldiers  !  Oh,  they  are  coming,  they  are  coming 
to  burn  our  home !  They  are  most  there  now ! 
Where  am  I?  In  the  water?  I  must  jump!  My 
mother!  My  father!"  and  with  one  quick  start, 
Rachel  awoke.  For  an  instant  she  could  not  under- 
stand, as  with  a  dazed  look  she  fixed  her  eyes  on 
the  blackened  ruins.  And  then  as  they  met  the  lov- 
ing, anxious  look  of  her  old  playmate,  everything 
flashed  to  her  mind.  Now  she  knew.  She  had  been 
asleep  and  dreaming  of  that  dreadful  day.  The 
earnest  eyes  of  the  young  soldier  had  touched  the 
lost  chord  of  memory,  and  Rachel  was  the  brave 
little  woman  again,  planning  and  directing  for  her 
dear  ones. 

"  Forgive  me,  Tjerck,  for  having  detained  you, 
when  your  time  is  so  precious.  How  could  I  have 
slept  amid  all  this  desolation  ?  God  must  have  given 
me  the  rest  I  so  much  needed.  Yet,  not  to-day,  the 
first  of  your  return,  would  I  have  been  so  selfish. 
But  I  feel  strong  now.  You  must  not  longer  wait 
for  me.  Do  you  have  to  return  to  your  command 
soon  ?     I  hope  I  have   not  been  the  cause  of  your 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       61 

getting  in  trouble  for  delinquency.  Tell  me  how  it 
is,"  quickly  spoke  Rachel. 

"  Well,  my  little  fast  talker,  you  are  having  things 
all  your  own  way  now.  Yet  I  will  interrupt  your 
pleasant  voice  just  long  enough  to  say  you  never 
give  me  any  trouble.  Every  moment  spent  with 
you  brings  naught  but  happiness.  So  rest  your 
mind  in  peace,  I  am  truly  glad  you  have  had  the 
refreshing  sleep.  I  could  not  have  desired  a  greater 
blessing  for  you  to-day,  my  little  girl.  And  now  I 
will  take  you  back  to  your  mother  before  I  report  at 
head-quarters,  and  then  I  will  see  you  later  in  the 
day,  so  that  we  may  talk  over  what  is  best  to  be 
done.     Come,  Rachel,"  responded  the  young  soldier. 

"  Now,  my  old  playmate,  just  listen  to  me;  girls 
know  so  much  better  than  boys  how  things  should 
be  managed,  even  in  war-times.  Leave  me  here  ; 
you  go  and  report  to  your  colonel  ;  I  will  wait  for 
you  until  you  return.  I  want  to  look  about  these 
dear  old  walls  for  a  while  longer,  and  also  to  talk  to 
and  comfort  my  pets,  the  animals,  a  little  more.  Do 
not  look  so  disapprovingly,  God  will  take  care  of 
me  !  Now  please  go  !  That's  a  good  boy  !  Grant 
this  request  and  I  will  not  soon  again  ask  to  be  left 
in  such  a  place.  The  Britishers  are  far,  far  away,  and 
all  your  own  soldiers  are  now  in  camp  at  dinner,  so  I 
shall  not  be  disturbed.  It  is  so  quiet  and  peaceful 
here,  even  in  the  midst  of  these  ruins.  I  feel  that 
our  Heavenly  Father  is  now  very  near  to  us  !  His 
arm  is  strong  to  protect.     Go,  Tjerck  !  Obey  me  !   I 


62  Rachel  DtiMont, 

am  your  little  Lieutenant-General ! "  uttered  the  low, 
sweet  voice  of  the  young  girl. 

The  soldier-youth  could  not  resist  the  pleading 
tones  and  confident  words  of  the  brave  maid.  Her 
faith  ever  infused  in  his  mind  the  same  trust.  He 
too  felt  the  nearness  of  the  Most  High  o'ershadowing 
this  lonely  spot,  and  encircling  the  fearless  child  with 
the  bright  cloud  of  His  presence. 

"  Be  it  as  you  say,  dear ;  I  will  soon  come  to  you," 
musingly  answered  the  soldier.  And  with  only  a 
military  salute  his  true  eyes  rested  on  those  of  Rachel 
for  an  instant,  and  he  was  rapidly  walking  toward 
the  camp. 

Rachel  watched  him  until  out  of  sight,  and  then 
looked  among  the  charred  ashes  for  some  token  of 
her  old  loved  home  besides  the  iron  kettle.  None 
greeted  her  wistful  eyes,  and  giving  up  the  search,  she 
sat  down  by  the  old  family-hearth, —  hoping  to  feel 
some  of  the  comfort  that  must  cling  to  it  still.  But 
oh,  it  was  not  the  dear  old  fire-place  without  her 
beloved  parents  and  the  children.  And  even  the 
little  colored  toddlings  hanging  about,  with  the  grown 
servants  going  out  and  in,  she  missed  more  than  she 
could  express.  And  poor  old  Dinah  laid  up  with  the 
rheumatism,  and  Caesar,  grown  gray  and  old  in  the 
service  of  the  family  ;  and  pious  Uncle  Ned,  and 
even  mischievous,  wicked  Pompey.  How  her  heart 
yearned  over  them  all.  No  place  could  feel  like 
home  where  these  were  not.  Where  her  loved  ones 
were,  even  the  wilds  of  the  desert  would  be  "sweet, 
sweet  home." 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       63 

She  could  no  longer  tarry  here.  She  would  go  to 
her  friends  in  the  corn-field  and  pasture-lot.  They 
would  comfort  her  now.  And  yes,  she  heard  them 
calling  to  her  in  the  language  she  so  well  understood. 
"  I  am  coming  !  I  am  coming  !  dear  old  darlings," 
answered  Rachel.  "  God  has  spared  you  for  me,  if 
the  old  stone  walls  have  fallen.  We  can  build  another 
home,  with  our  strong  arms  and  hands,  and  again 
together  our  happy  family  shall  be,  animals  and  all. 
You  do  not  forget  your  little  mistress,  do  you  ? " 
ejaculated  the  young  girl,  as  she  hastened  to  where 
the  cows  were  looking  toward  her.  All  her  flock 
seemed  to  know  she  was  coming  :  indeed,  they  had 
scarcely  taken  their  eyes  from  the  path  she  had  taken 
when  she  had  left  them  a  little  while  before,  ap- 
parently knowing  she  would  not  be  long  away. 
Now  chickens,  large  and  small,  mother  pig  and  nine 
wee  piglings,  as  well  as  the  dove-eyed  cows,  were  on 
the  qui  vive  for  the  return  of  their  loved  ones. 

Hastening  to  those  intelligent,  loyal  brutes,  (?)  the 
young  girl  resolved,  just  for  this  once,  she  would  be 
a  child  as  of  yore,  and  have  a  good  romp  with  her 
old  darlings.  Throwing  herself  on  the  grass  beside 
the  cows,  they  rubbed  her  with  their  heads,  while 
with  her  arms  clasped  around  the  neck  of  each  in 
turn,  she  talked  with  their  speaking  eyes.  And  the 
chickens  hopped  on  her  head  and  shoulders  and 
pecked  at  her  cheeks  and  hands,  keeping  up  an  inces- 
sant clatter.  One  old  rooster  deliberately  jumped 
on  the  head  of  Rachel,  flapped  his  wings,  and  stretch- 


64  Rachel  DttMont, 

ing  his  neck  to  its  utmost  length,  gave  a  tremendous 
crow,  "cock-a  doodle-do  !"  This  unheard-of  pro- 
ceeding made  the  child  laugh  heartily,  but  the  sad- 
eyed  cows  looked  aghast  at  the  free-and-easy  bird. 
The  hens,  too,  seemed  to  be  frightened  at  their  liege 
lord's  lack  of  respect  for  their  mistress,  and  woman- 
like tried  to  cover  up  the  breach  of  decorum,  by  click- 
ing their  bills  very  rapidly,  thus  engaging  the  atten- 
tion of  the  little  lady.  The  baby-chicklings  evidently 
thought  it  a  most  wondrous  performance,  as  they 
intently  watched  the  proud,  self-satisfied  rooster  — 
"  lord  of  creation." 

On  the  grass,  with  all  these  funny-acting  pets 
clamoring  about  her,  was  our  heroine,  when  the  tall 
soldier  returned.  Springing  to  her  feet,  Rachel  ex- 
claimed: "  Why,  you  have  not  come  so  soon  ;  I  do 
believe  you  have  run  every  step  of  the  way.  And 
you  have  not  had  one  morsel  of  dinner,  I  know.  I 
did  not  dream  you  could  have  yet  reached  your  camp. 
You  must  be  very  tired,  Tjerck ;  come  sit  down  by 
me  and  rest." 

The  youth  did  not  see  much  of  a  place  to  sit  down, 
save  on  the  outer  edge  of  this  family-group,  with  all 
the  animals  between  him  and  his  beloved.  So  he 
nonchalantly  replied  :  "  Now  tell  the  truth,  Rachel, 
have  you  missed  me  at  all  ?  These  —  what  shall  I 
call  them  ?  are  so  absorbing  all  your  attention  that 
there  does  not  seem  to  be  any  room  for  me  outside 
or  inside  your  heart,  and  I  do  not  choose  to  be  ban- 
ished so  far  away." 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       65 


z^*---e 


-  ^^^^Sf^^ 


ygftSt-ggST 


11  F<?«  w«j/  be  very  tired,   Tjerck;  come  sit  dawn  by  me  and  rest. 


vm  i  '3tf7SEMaBaftSF 


66  Rachel  DuMont, 

"  Oh,  you  old  jealousy  !  The  same  boy  that  you 
ever  were,"  returned  the  maid.  "  Do  you  really 
think,  Tjerck,  that  I  could  let  any  one,  even  this  dear 
beautiful  cow,  take  your  place  ?  No,  no  !  You  are 
first,  now  and  forever  —  among  my  playmates" — 
archly  continued  the  little  lady.  "And  now  come  right 
here  by  my  side,  until  I  shall  take  that  dismal  crinkle 
out  of  your  forehead.  You  are  not  handsome,  my 
dear  boy,  when  you  are  jealous.  Run  away,  old 
mother-pig,  and  put  your  babies  to  sleep.  And  dear 
old  cows,  go  lie  down  for  a  while  under  the  trees. 
Somebody  has  come  that  does  not  love  you  as  /  do 
—  and  don't  you  tell  —  that  /  like  very,  very,  very 
much. 

"  And  you,  proud  strutting  chicken,  go  on  the  fence 
and  give  one  more  'cock-a-doo-dle-do '  just  for  auld 
lang  syne's  sake.  Take  your  wives  and  children  with 
you.  Away,  away  all  of  you  for  a  while.  Come, 
Tjerck,  they  will  not  interfere  with  you  now;  they 
understand  every  word  I  say  to  them.  Come  and 
rest  just  for  a  few  minutes  on  this  soft  grass.  And 
here  is  a  nice  drink  of  cool  water  :  the  cup  I  have 
made  expressly  for  you  :  it  will  refresh  you,  I  know." 

Stepping  to  Rachel's  side,  from  whence  all  the  ani- 
mals had  stood  aside,  the  young  officer  took  from  her 
hand  the  cup,  made  of  maple  leaves,  and  raising  it 
to  his  lips,  quickly  drained  the  cooling  chalice.  "  A 
sweeter  draught  was  never  quaffed,  maiden  fair,"  re- 
sponded the  soldier,  with  a  low  bow.  "  And  now  I 
will  give  myself  just  five  minutes  to  enjoy  that  soft, 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       67 


A  sweeter  draught  was  never  quaffed,  maiden  fair. 


68  Rachel  DuMont, 

sweet  grass,  and  then,  little  ' General,'  we  must 

be  on  the  march  to  report  at  your  head-quarters.  I 
fear,  even  now,  your  parents  are  alarmed  for  the 
safety  of  their  little  daughter  who  is  absent,  although 
in  the  charge  of  an  American  officer.  Well,  well,  I 
cannot  blame  them.  This  pearl  of  pearls,  most 
precious  of  jewels,"  soliloquized  the  youth,  as  though 
no  one  were  near,  "she  must  be  cherished  and 
guarded  at  all  hazards." 

"  Tjerck,  Tjerck ;  you  are  just  spoiling  your  old 
friend.  Why,  she  is  your  helpmate  now  as  well  as 
playmate.  This  is  war-time,  and  we  are  soldiers  ;  I 
as  well  as  you.  Don't  you  know  I  am  not  a  timid 
little  girl  ?  Well,  as  long  as  I  have  a  brave  soldier 
boy  by  my  side.  And  I  am  changed,  Tjerck.  The 
last  week  has  showed  me  that  women  are  good  for 
something  beside  being  taken  care  of.  Oh,  it  would 
have  done  your  heart  good  could  you  have  seen  how 
nobly  many  of  our  villagers  acted  that  terrible  day. 
I  could  take  care  of  you,  Tjerck,  if  you  needed  for 
care,  and  men  do,  sometimes,  as  well  as  women, 
don't  they  ?  Now,  confess,  my  friend,  wouldn't  you 
be  a  little  afraid  to  live  in  this  world  if  there  were 
no  women,  and  even  no  little  girls  ?  They  keep  you 
from  being  homesick,  don't  they  ?  And  doesn't 
homesickness  take  all  the  heart  out  of  any  one  ? 
What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  I  guess  you  are 
homesick  now.  You  look  so  sober.  And  your  five 
minutes  have  flown.  Your  repeater  struck  some 
time  ago,  but  you  were  so  taken  up  with  something 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       69 

you  did  not  notice  it.  Are  you  in  or  out  of  the 
body,  Tjerck?"  queried  Rachel. 

Rising  from  the  grass,  Lieutenant  Beekman  took 
Rachel  by  the  hand  and  assisted  her  over  the  rude 
log-fence  of  the  pasture-lot.  The  young  girl  had 
truly  spoken  :  A  helpmate  in  so  many  senses  of  the 
word.  As  playmate  she  had  been  very  dear,  but  the 
new  pet-name  pleased  him  more  than  he  could  tell. 
"Yes,  little  girl,  you  help  me  to  live.  Homesick  ! 
Desolate  !  Afraid  !  Yes,  afraid  would  I  be  to  live 
without  you,  Rachel.  But  wit h  you  Sahara  would  be 
a  paradise.  These  last  few  days  have  brought  to 
the  surface,  or  developed  the  rich,  unfailing,  inex- 
haustible mine  of  comfort  —  your  brave,  loving, 
womanly  heart.  God  help  me  to  be  equally  strong 
and  true.  To  love,  cherish  and  protect  Rachel, —  I 
ask  for  no  greater  happiness.  With  all  her  heroism, 
she  is  still  a  woman,  to  defend.     And  I  promise." 

"  Tjerck,  you  musn't  be  so  solemn.  This  is  our 
holiday  :  Let  us  be  gay ! "  vivaciously  interlocuted 
the  little  French  girl.  "We  will  laugh,  and  sing, 
and  dance,  and  make  merry,  because  everything  will 
come  out  right.  I  know  it  will.  I  feel  it  in  the  air, 
don't  you,  Tjerck?  Yes  you  do.  Your  eyes  say  so  ; 
so  let  us  take  one  run  down  this  hill  and  see  who 
will  reach  Old  Bill's  back  the  first.  Poor  old  horse  ! 
he  must  be  quite  out  of  patience  waiting  for  us. 
One,  two,  three ;  I  am  off,  Mr.  Lieutenant,"  called 
Rachel,  as  she  fairly  flew  down  the  bank,  "  catch  me 
if  you  can." 


jo  Rachel  DuMont, 

The  grave  face  of  the  young  soldier  quickly 
changed  as  he  accepted  the  bantering  challenge  of 
the  young  girl.  He,  too,  fleetly  sped  o'er  the 
ground,  but  Rachel  had  sprung  to  the  saddle  before 
her  companion  could  "  catch  her."  She  was  in  the 
best  of  spirits,  although  the  blackened  ashes  of  her 
home  were  in  sight.  Hadn't  she  still  her  mother 
and  father,  sisters  and  brother,  and  even  her  dear 
''playmate  ?"  Why  shouldn't  she  be  gay,  and  laugh, 
and  play  ? 

Vaulting  lightly  on  the  back  of  the  faithful  horse, 
Lieutenant  Beekman,  with  this  brave  little  maid, 
were  soon  fording  the  creek.  The  water  had  receded 
since  morning,  so  the  trip,  thanks  to  Old  Bill's  sure- 
footedness,  was  soon  accomplished.  Pompey  was  on 
the  edge  of  the  creek  waiting  for  them,  much  sub- 
dued since  the  fright  of  the  morning.  The  tribute 
to  his  valor  —  the  huge  piece  of  watermelon — had 
been  generously  bestowed  upon  him  as  promised. 
Yet  his  eyes  did  glare  uneasily  at  the  handsome 
young  soldier  so  gallantly  escorting  the  little 
"  missy."  Evidently  Pompey  did  not  enjoy  or  ap- 
preciate their  military  guest.  He  really  had  a  mor- 
tal fear  of  soldiers,  enemies  or  friends,  not  much 
difference.  He  seemed  to  think  that  swords  and 
guns  were  rather  suspicious,  to  say  the  least,  and  he 
felt  safer  in  the  potato  barrel  in  the  dark  cellar  than 
in  the  proximity  of  such  uncanny  things  as  these 
weapons.  And  he  did  turn  pale,  ashy  gray,  as  the 
officer,  with  his  sword  at  his  belt,  sprang  from  the 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       71 

horse  and  assisted  Rachel  to  dismount,  who  allowed 
herself  to  be  lifted  from  the  saddle. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Pompey  ?  Has  anything 
happened  to  mother  or  father,  or  the  children  ?  Why 
do  you  act  so  strangely  ? "  quickly  asked  the  young 
girl. 

"Well,  yer  see,  Missy  Rachel,  I'se  ben  worrit 
'bout  yer  all  day.  Yer's  not  'cussomed  to  sojers,  an' 
I  done  thort  some  dem  guns  an'  swords  might  go  off. 
Berry  dangus  tings,  dem  am,  missy.  Don  yer  tink 
de  young  massa  had  better  go  back  to  his  army  now? 
It  might  scare  yer  mudder  an'  fadder  to  sees  him  so 
much  'roun'.  I'll  tells  him  dat  Pompey  can  take 
care  ob  de  wimmen  an'  chillen,  an'  he  can  go  shoot 
de  Britishers.   Sail  I,  missy?"  retorted  the  negro  lad. 

"  Pompey,  do  not  talk  so  ridiculously.  Lieutenant 
Beekman  is  our  best  friend,  and  has  come  to  help  us. 
My  mother  and  father  love  him  very  much,  and  you 
know  they  have  only  little  Johnnie, — one  boy*  Now, 
for  my  sake,  do  all  you  can  to  make  this  soldier  com- 
fortable," in  a  low  tone  spoke  Rachel. 

"  Well,"  said  Pompey,  "jus  as  yer  done  say,  missy. 
Pompey  don'  mind  hissef,  ony  de  little  missy.  I  isn' 
feared  ob  sojers  an' guns,  an'  all  dat  sort  ob  ting; 
but  wimmen  folks  an'  chillen  is  divrent,  dey  might 
be  scared.  But  jus  as  yer  say,  missy,  Pompey  isn' 
feared." 

During  this  little  aside  conversation  between  the 
young  lady  and  the  ruffled  negro,    Tjerck,  noticing 

*  See  Note  in  Appendix. 


72  -    Rachel  DuMont, 

that  something  was  wrong,  had  delicately  withdrawn 
a  few  steps,  although  not  out  of  sight  of  the  re- 
proachful eyes  of  the  "  worrit  "  boy.  At  the  close  of 
the  confidential  talk  he  rejoined  Rachel,  and  releas- 
ing "  Old  Bill "  from  longer  carrying  them,  side  by 
side  once  more  they  sauntered  o'er  the  grass-skirted 
road.  Their  hearts  were  too  full  for  lightly  talking 
now.     They  were  happy,  although  their  country  was 


7  7 

The  "  worrit "  boy. 

in  the  midst  of  a  long  war  for  bare  existence,  and 
the  young  girl  houseless  and  homeless.  They  had 
each  other.  This  was  more  than  content.  They 
felt  that  the  dear  Father  had  given  them  the  great- 
est of  blessings.  Why  then,  or  how  should  they 
repine  ? 

Hand  in  hand,  as  was  their  wont  before  this  cruel 
war,  did   they   present  themselves    before    the    sick 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       73 

parents.  Neither  was  there  now  much  need  for 
words.  Both  mother  and  father  knew  that  the  chil- 
dren had  come  for  their  blessing,  and  each  parental 
heart  went  forth  to  greet  them.  Still  hand  linked 
in  hand  they  drew  close  to  the  loving  parents,  and 
with  bowed  heads,  knelt  before  them.  Beautiful, 
although  solemn,  was  this  sacred  scene.  The  hands 
of  mother  and  father  on  each  lowly-bent  head,  as 
with  uplifted  eyes,  silently,  beseechingly  they  plead 
for  Heaven's  smile  to  sanction  the  betrothal  of  their 
darling  child.  The  war  was  forgotten.  That  their 
home  had  been  destroyed  and  that  they  were  wan- 
derers on  the  face  of  the  earth,  entered  not  either 
heart  at  this  hallowed  hour.  Too  pre-absorbed  were 
they  for  the  life-happiness  of  their  first-born  idol  to 
let  aught  but  their  child  usurp  this  "holy  of  holies." 
The  sun,  which  had  been  for  a  few  moments  under 
a  cloud,  now  sent  a  bright  ray  of  sunshine  over  the 
still  kneeling  youthful  forms.  It  did  seem  as  though 
Heaven  was  smiling.  So  the  parents  accepted  the 
bright  omen,  and  both  Rachel  and  Tjerck  felt  the 
halo  that  rested  upon  them. 


74 


Rachel  DuMont. 


Hand  in  /land,  as  was  their  wont  before  this  cruel  7oar,  did  they  present 
themselves  before  the  sick  parents. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

UST  then  Isabel  entered  the  room  with  a 
tray  of  dinner  for  the  young  soldier  and 
the  little  missy.  Only  her  favorite  dish  of 
suppawn  and  milk,  yet  it  was  served  with  true  hospi- 
tality. The  young  officer  had  not  broken  his  fast 
since  morning,  and  ate  with  a  relish.  Never  had  he 
enjoyed  such  a  delicious  repast,  he  said  to  the  smil- 
ing Isabel. 

Rachel  could  not  equally  do  justice  to  the  meal, 
although  Isabel  protested  that  she  must  be  "  done 
starved."  "  Eat,  honey  ;  it'll  do  yer  good,"  coaxed 
the  loving  old  servant.  "An'  no  bekfus  did  de  chile 
hab,  eider.  Oh,  dis  am  offul  war.  How's  my  ole 
brin'el,  darlin' ?  Did  yer  see  'em?  Was  dem  all 
live?     Chick,  pigs,  hens,  all?" 

"  Yes,  my  good  Isabel,  they  are  all  alive,  and  as  fat 

as well,  as  fat  as  you,  Isabel ;  and  they  want  to 

see  you,  I  know.  I  read  that  in  their  eyes.  We 
must  soon  go  back  to  the  old  place,"  the  young  girl 
said,  as  if  thinking  aloud. 

In  this  last  sentence  Rachel  had  unwittingly 
struck  the  key-note  of  what  Tjerck  wanted  to  say. 
Hastily  taking  up  the  words,  he  said  :  "  Yes,  and  our 
soldiers  shall  build  you  a  house.      It  will  not  take 


76 


Rachel  DuMont, 


Only  her  favo>ite  dish  of  suppawn  and  milk. 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       77 

them  long  to  erect  a  comfortable  home  out  of  the 
logs  near  at  hand.  To-morrow  they  will  commence 
this  work,  and  soon  you  will  be  under  your  own 
roof.  The  servants  can  help  them,  and  can  gather 
the  remaining  harvest  also.  General  Clinton  told  me 
this  morning  that  he  and  his  command  would  do  all 
in  their  power  to  make  homes  for  the  inhabitants  of 
the  unfortunate  village.  And  since  they  will  stay 
here  three  weeks  at  least,  much  can  be  done.  Our 
men  work  like  troopers  when  their  heart  is  in  their 
work,  and  they  are  in  earnest  for  the  poor  sufferers 
of  Kingston.  You,  Rachel,  I  wish  to  stay  at  this 
farm-house  with  your  parents  and  the  children,  until 
Captain ,  my  friend,  shall  come  for  you.  Prom- 
ise me  this,  dear." 

Rachel  was  so  truly  in  the  mist  of  sweet  happiness 
that  was  enveloping  her,  that  she  scarcely  compre- 
hended this  new  order  of  things.  Not  until  Tjerck 
addressed  himself  immediately  to  her,  did  she  emerge 
from  this  pleasant  hiding-place.  Then,  fearing  from 
the  manner  in  which  her  old  playmate  spoke,  that  he 
was  not  to  remain,  she  quickly  exclaimed  :  "  You 
will  not  leave  us,  Tjerck  ;   I  cannot  let  you  go." 

"  Yes,  Rachel,  you  will,  when  I  tell  you  that  even 
now  I  have  my  orders  to  join  General  Washington, 
who  is  on  the  march  for  Valley  Forge.  Would  that 
I  could  stay  with  you,  darling.  Yet  God  will  protect 
you,   Rachel." 

Isabel,  with  Caesar,  who  had  stolen  unperceived  in 
the  room,  upon  hearing  that  the  soldiers  would  build 


78  Rachel  DuMont. 

them  a  house,  with  their  warm  African  blood,  sang 
or  intoned  :  Bress  de  Lor' !  Bress  de  Lor  !  God  am 
good  !     Hallelujah  !     Hallelujah  !  " 

And  no  less  sincerely  did  Mr.  and  Mrs.  DuMont 
thank  and  praise  Him  for  His  wondrous  help  in  their 
time  of  need.  The  announcement  that  they  would 
have  a  home  once  more  made  their  hearts  and  eyes 
o'erflow  with  gratitude  toward  their  Heavenly  Pro- 
tector. 

And  now  only  an  hour  could  the  young  soldier 
stay  with  this  happy  family.  Yes,  happy,  in  spite  of 
all  their  loss,  because  they  thought  of  the  goodness 
and  kindness  of  their  Heavenly  Father,  and  with 
pure  faith  and  trust  knew  that  He  would  bring  good 
even  from  the  misfortune  which  had  befallen  them. 
Very  pleasant  and  dear  was  this  hour's  communion 
with  their  soldier-son.  They  trusted  him  without 
reserve  with  all  their  plans.  They  had  still  their  farm 
and  all  their  cattle,  and  before  winter  much  could  be 
accomplished.  General  Washington  had  sent  sup- 
plies to  satisfy  the  immediate  pressing  need  of  the 
villagers,  and  had  ordered  the  command  to  do  all 
they  could  for  the  suffering  ones,  which  order  was 
very  efficiently  enforced  by  General  George  Clinton. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

RAVELY  the  young  soldier —  Lieutenant 
Beekman  —  tried  to  impart  to  the  young 
girl — Rachel  —  the  counsel,  comfort  and 
strength  that  she  would  need  through  the  years  that 
might  intervene  before  he  should  see  her  —  or  —  but 
he  could  not  think  of  the  other  alternative  that  had 
lain  like  a  weight  on  his  mind  and  heart.  He 
trusted  that  their  lives  would  be  spared,  and  that 
they  should  be  reunited,  never  again  to  be  separated. 
To  leave  his  little  playmate  and  helpmate  was  now 
his  greatest  sorrow. 

Rachel  —  brave  little  patriot,  courageous  woman  — 
felt  in  the  innermost  recesses  of  her  heart  that  all 
would  be  well,  and  that  Tjerck  and  she  should  be 
reunited.  So  she  would  be  strong  !  Was  she  not  a 
woman,  now,  with  the  charge  of  a  family  on  her 
young  shoulders?  Truly  had  she  in  the  events  of 
the  last  week  proved  herself  worthy  of  the  title  of 
Lieutenant-General,  and  she  would  not  now  show  a 
child's  weakness.  Bravely  she  bade  Tjerck  "  Good- 
bye," bidding  her  own  wildly-throbbing  heart  "  Be 
still!" 

With  an  affectionate  farewell  to  each  of  the  family, 
the  young  soldier  whispered  something  in  the  ear  of 


80  Rachel  DuMont, 

the  mother,  and  with  one  parting  kiss  on  Rachel's 
broad,  clear  brow,  and  one  look  in  the  depths  of  her 
dark  gray  eyes  —  he  was  gone  ! 

Rachel  stood  where  her  beloved  had  left  her  with 
one  hand  over  her  heart,  and  one  shading  her  eyes, 
intently  watching  the  retreating  form  of  the  noble 
young  officer  until  she  could  see  him  no  longer  — 
then  turning  to  her  mother,  was  clasped  to  the  loving 
mother-heart,  where  we  leave  her  to  be  comforted. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

|IEUTENANT  Beekman  hurried  to  camp, 
and  giving  his  trusted  friend  the  plans  — 
his  own  —  for  the  new  home  of  the  Du- 
Mont  family  —  with  this  friend's  sacred  promise  to 
direct  the  speedy  building  of  the  log-house  —  he 
mounted  his  horse,  with  a  few  soldiers  as  body-guard, 
and  started  on  his  journey.  Early  the  next  morn- 
ing, a  captain  in  the  American  uniform,  with  a  com- 
pany of  twenty-five  men,  were  at  work  at  the  home 
of  little  Rachel.  Not  many  days  passed  before 
they  had  a  very  comfortable  building,  to  which  the 
family  could  immediately  remove.  Rachel  had  sent 
all  the  men-servants  to  help  the  soldiers,  and  to 
gather  the  harvest.  She,  with  her  parents  and  the 
children,  remained  where  they  were,  until  the  Cap- 
tain, Lieutenant  Beekman's  friend,  came  to  tell  them 
everything  was  in  readiness,  and  to  escort  them  with 
all  needed  help  to  their  new  home.  Very  faithfully 
did  this  officer  fulfill  every  promise  made.  All  that 
could  be  done  for  the  comfort  of  this  family  was 
most  zealously  and  gallantly  performed.  They  were 
in  his  charge  and  were  cared  for  tenderly. 

And  now,  having  placed  my  little  heroine  and  her 
loved  ones  once  more  in  their  home, —  on  their  own 
beloved  grounds, —  perhaps  I  should  stop, 
ii 


82 


Rachel  DuMont. 


But,  may  be  some  one  or  more  of  my  young 
readers  would  like  to  know  if  Rachel  and  Tjerck 
ever  met  again.  So  I  will  spin  out  my  story  a  little 
longer,  and  tell  these  interested  ones  the  true  sequel. 
At  the  close  of  the  war,  which  lasted  six  years  after 
the  burning  of  Kingston,  the  young  soldier,  who 
had  then  obtained  a  captain's  commission,  came  to 
Rachel's  home.  And  although  this  is  not  a  "  love 
and  marriage  "  novel,  I  think  I  will  farther  add  that 
Captain  Beekman  and  Rachel  DuMont  were  mar- 
ried very  soon  after  peace  was  proclaimed. 


Lieutenant  Beekman  goes  to  join  General  Washington,  at  Valley  Forgt. 


CONCLUSION. 

J  N  OT  H  E  Rfete  champetre  on  Rachel's  twenty- 
first  birthday,  to  atone  for  the  one  that  the 
Britishers  had  spoiled  exactly  six  years 
before.  Again  is  the  table  laid  on  the  soft  sweet 
grass  of  the  old-fashioned  lawn,  although  it  is  the 
sixteenth  of  October.  But  Rachel  even  had  the 
same  beautiful  Indian-summer-day  now  for  her  bridal. 
(God  was  so  good  to  remember  everything.*)  And 
Isabel  as  fat  and  gay  as  ever,  in  her  brand  new  red 
turban,  was  now,  as  of  old,  to  preside  over  the  good 
things  to  eat.  The  suppawn  and  milk  was  yet  intact, 
but  a  huge  bridal  cake,  with  "  Rachel  "  in  large  sugar 
letters,  was  even  then  in  its  honored  place  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  table  —  a  chef-d'ceuvre —  the  product  of 
the  loving  brain,  heart  and  hands  of  the  good  old 
colored  woman.  This  indefatigable,  never-tiring 
friend  had  also  rilled  the  hospitable  board  with  de- 
licious Dutch  rusks,  as  only  Isabel  could  make,  and 
honey,  and  oleykceks,  and  maple  sugar,  and  large  red 
apples,  and  "  Maiden  Blush"  apples,  and  raisins,  and 
white  walnuts,    and   black  walnuts,   and  butternuts, 

and  delicious  cider,  

Now,  young  friends,  isn't  that  a  banquet  fit  for  a 
king  ?     And  I  must  tell  you  that  the  cider  was  poured 


84  Rachel  DuMont, 

from  the  old  silver  tankard  that  was  among  the  relics 
saved  that  memorable  day.  And  instead  of  tumblers 
or  goblets  they  used  the  old  blue  china  that  had  also 
been  rescued  from  the  red-coat  Britishers. 

Caesar  was  still  the  head-waiter  —  or,  no  —  the 
butler —  he  wished  to  be  called  —  with  his  hair  braided 
as  of  old  (on  one  side).  The  corresponding  portion 
of  his  head  had  been  bereft  of  the  gray,  scanty  locks 
by  his  nephew  —  the  wicked  Pompey  —  one  day  when 
the  poor  old  man  was  asleep.  He  was  caught  doing 
it  by  his  father,  "  Uncle  Ned,"  although  Caesar  in- 
sisted that  it  was  "  dem  rascally  Britishers  dat  wuz 


"Missy  Rachel's  butler." 

try  in  to  scalp  him."  Indeed,  he  was  so  proud  of 
this  —  his  only  scar  of  the  war  —  that  he  would  not 
cut  off  the  remaining  one  queue,  but  clung  to  it  so  as 
to  have  a  chance  to  tell  his  version  of  the  "scalpin'." 
Pompey  gave  as  his  excuse  for  so  naughty  a  prank 
that  "  Uncle  Caese  put  on  mos'  too  much  '  grandilo- 
quism'  for  ony  a  nigger,  eben  dough  him  is  Missy 
Rachel's  butler."  The  other  servants  were  dressed 
the  same  as  at  the  other  party  ;  indeed,  this  was  their 
prescribed  regalia  for  state  occasions. 

And  the  bride!  —  Beautiful   Rachel!  Tall  —  lithe 
and  graceful   in  every  movement — her   dark    gray 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       85 

eyes  beamed  to-day  with  a  quiet,  tender,  tremulous 
joy.  She  was  robed  in  her  old  favorite  costume  — 
the  same  that  had  so  filled  the  eyes  of  her  boy-lover 
six  years  before,  only  of  some  finer  material.  (The 
young  Captain  had  made  this  request.)  So  her 
country's  colors  were  her  bridal-robe.  And  the 
luxuriant  chestnut-hair,  still  gleaming  with  gold, 
which  now  reached  almost  to  the  hem  of  her  skirt  — 
her  only  bridal-veil.  This,  too,  was  the  young  officer's 
taste,  which  rather  shocked  some  of  the  orthodox 
Dutch  matrons,  who  thought  it  should  have  been 
put  away  closely  under  a  cap. 

And  the  huge  silver  shoe-buckles  (her  only  orna- 
ments)— the  same  that  had  for  years  been  so  closely 
linked  and  twined  about  Rachel's  heart,  flashed  and 
sparkled  with  renewed  brilliancy,  as  though  in  truth 
they  were  in  perfect  sympathy  with  the  young  lovers' 
happy  hearts  united  forever. 

*  ■*  *  *  *  -* 

And  the  old  crane,  with  the  kettle  —  minus  one 
foot  —  attached,  which  was  all  that  was  left  of  the 
old  home,  which  the  "Britishers"  burned, — was  hung 
over  the  bridal-hearth  of  the  charming  bride  and 
noble  bridegroom,  the  same  evening,  with  appropri- 
ate festivities. 

****** 

Rachel  DuMont  Beekman  lived  to  the  age  of 
ninety-three  years  in  the  village  of  Kingston,  on  the 
very  grounds  surrounding  the  home  of  her  childhood 


86 


Rachel  DuMont, 


So  her  country" s  colors  were  her  b>idal-robe" 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       87 

and  birth.  Her  husband,  the  gallant  soldier  of  the 
Revolution,  fell  at  her  side  at  the  early  age  of  thirty- 
one  years.*  He  had  contracted  a  severe  cold  the 
winter  Washington  was  encamped  at  Valley  Forge, 
where    our    army    suffered  such  terrible   privations, 


The  hanging  of  the  crane. 

which  made  sad  inroads  upon  his  naturally  strong 
constitution.  Rachel  was  ever  true  to  the  memory 
of  her  soldier-husband  to  the  latest  day  of  her  life. 
She  even  reproved  (in  her  ninety-third  year)  one 
who  said  that  "  Tjerck  was  rather  a  harsh  name,"  and 
insisted  with  all  the  fervor  of  early  girlhood  that  it 
was  beautiful  Left  a  widow  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
six,  with  three  children,  for  sixty-seven  years  she 
walked  alone  the  path  toward  Heaven,  her  life  full 
of  honors,  respected  and  loved  by  all. 

*  See  Note  in  Appendix. 


88  Rachel  DuMont, 

On  her  ninety-third  birthday,  in  accordance  with  her 
usual  custom,  Mrs.  Tjerck  Beekman  had  quite  a  large 
party  of  her  relatives  and  friends.  She  was  robed 
in  a  soft  gray  silk,  with  white  mull  'kerchief — her 
silvery  hair  partly  covered  with  a  delicate  mull  cap 

—  and  entertained  her  guests  with  all  the  grace  and 
vivacity  of  her  youth.     After  the  company  had  gone 

—  quite  early  in  the  evening  —  she  said  she  thought 
she  would  take  off  the  long  robe  and  put  on  the 
"  short  gown  and  petticoat,"  which  had  ever  been 
her  favorite  costume  from  childhood.  Telling  her 
daughter,  then  her  only  child,  she  was  tired,  she  lay 
down  on  her  couch,  and  never  arose.  A  few  days 
later  she  passed  to  the  brighter  "  Home,"  there  to 
rejoin  the  lover-husband  of  her  early  girlhood,  never, 
never  again  to  be  parted. 


A   Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution, 


Lieutenant  Beekman  at  Valley  Forge 


FINIS. 

SHORT  time  after  the  death  of  Captain 
Tjerck  Beekman,  General  Washington 
visited  Newburgh.  The  bereaved  young 
wife  of  the  fallen  patriot,  with  her  only  boy,  a  child 
of  three  years,  with  a  double  share  of  her  old  mili- 
tary fervor,  hastened  thither  to  do  him  honor.  Robed 
in  deepest  mourning,  with  her  fatherless  boy  in  her 
arms,  standing  on  the  side  of  one  of  the  streets 
through  which  the  military  hero  was  to  pass,  she  was 
seen  by  the  tender-hearted  "  Father  of  our  Country." 
An  officer  at  his  side  who  knew  Mrs.  Beekman, 
noticing  that  Washington  had  observed  her,  told 
him  that  she  was  the  wife  of  Captain  Beekman,  who 
was  with  him  at  Valley  Forge.  General  Wash- 
ington immediately  dismounted  and  went  to  the 
young  widowed  mother.  With  a  great  deal  of  feel- 
ing he  took  her  hand,  saying  a  few  words,  and  lifting 
her  boy  in  his  strong  arms,  he  kissed  the  fair  baby- 
brow.  Then,  most  courteously  he  bade  the  sorrow- 
ing Rachel  adieu,  and  hastened  to  his  comrades  in 
waiting. 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       91 


General  Washington  immediately  dismounted  and  went  to  the  youn< 
widowed  mother.'" 


APPENDIX. 

jJAPTAIN  Tjerck  Beekman,  the  husband  of 
Rachel  DuMont,  was  one  of  the  original 
members  of  "The  Society  of  the  Cincin- 
nati," of  which  General  Washington  was  the  first 
President.  John  Beekman  Westbrook,  of  Peekskill, 
N.  Y., —  the  grandchild  of  Rachel  and  Tjerck  — 
has  inherited  in  the  order  of  succession  (and  taken) 
Captain  Tjerck  Beekman's  seat  in  that  illustrious 
body. 

Through  the  kindly  courtesy  of  Mrs.  Henry  H. 
Reynolds,  of  Kingston,  N.  Y.,  we  are  permitted  to 
publish  the  following  extracts  from  letters  written  to 
Mr.  Cornelius  Wynkoop,  of  New  York,  the  grand- 
father of  Mrs.  Reynolds,  by  his  sons,  Mr.  Augustus 
Wynkoop  and  Mr.  Cornelius  E.  Wynkoop  : 

Written  by  Augustus  Wynkoop  to  his  father,  Mr. 
Cornelius  Wynkoop  : 

Kingston,  Dec.  2jtk,  1 791. 

*  *  *  On  Sunday  night  died  Capt.  Tjerck 
Beekman,  to  the  great  sorrow  of  all  his  acquaint- 
ance, and  loss  of  the  Regiment.  To-day  he  is  to  be 
buried  with  honours  of  war. 


A  Brave  Little  Maid  of  the  Revolution.       93 

Written  by  Cornelius  E.  Wynkoop  to  his  father, 
Mr.  Cornelius  Wynkoop  : 

Kingston,  Dec.  28th,  1791. 
*  *  *  Died  here  on  Sunday  evening  last,  Capt. 
Tjerck  Beekman,  that  much  respected  officer  and 
good  man.  His  funeral  was  more  than  common  : 
it  was  almost  the  same  as  Col.  Hasbrouck's,  except 
as  to  firing  of  cannon,  but  in  its  place  we  had  the 
Free  Masons  in  their  dress,  who  attended  the 
funeral  in  order,  he  being  a  brother.  It  was  a  very 
solemn  scene.  There  was  not  a  single  individual  — 
either  those  attending  the  funeral,  or  spectators  (of 
which  there  were  an  uncommon  number),  but  seemed 
all  as  if  they  mourned  bitterly,  for  the  loss  of 
Beekman. 


Rachel's  little  brother  —  Johnnie  —  was,  in  after 
years,  the  "owner"  of  the  slave-woman  —  Isabel  — 
who  in  the  full  maturity  of  womanhood  became  the 
world-famed  evangelist,  Sojourner  Truth.  She  was 
a  beloved  inmate  of  his  household  for  many  years  — 
Mr.  John  DuMont  of  Esopus  —  and  served  his 
family  most  faithfully.  To  the  latest  moments  of 
her  chequered  life,  did  the  heart  of  this  noble  woman 
—  who  was  so  truly  baptized  with  the  Holy  Spirit 
and  who  with  so  much  pathos  told  of  the  Blessed 
Master  —  lovingly  turn  —  with  pride  —  to  the  chil- 
dren and  grandchildren  (calling  each    by  name)  of 


94  Rachel  DuMont, 

the  fondly-remembered  "  Missy" — Rachel  DuMont 
Beekman. 


The  grandfather  of  "Rachel  DuMont"  — Col. 
Wessel  TenBroeck  —  erected  the  quaint  building 
known  as  the  old  Senate  House  in  Kingston,  N.  Y., 
more  than  two  hundred  years  ago.  One  hundred 
years  afterward,  the  first  Senate  of  the  State  of  New 
York  held  its  sessions  there,  the  year  of  the  adop- 
tion of  the  First  Constitution  —  C1 777)- 

******** 

Col.  TenBroeck  married  twice.  His  second  wife, 
whom  he  married  in  1695,  was  the  widow  of  Thomas 
Chambers,  the  first  prominent  settler  of  Esopus, 
now  Kingston.  Before  her  marriage  with  Mr. 
Chambers,  she  had  been  the  widow  of  Rev.  Lauren- 
tius  Van  Gaasbeck,  the  second  pastor  of  the  old 
Dutch  church  of  Esopus  (now  Kingston).  Col. 
Abraham  VanGaasbeck,  a  son  of  this  marriage, 
married  one  of  the  daughters  of  Col.  Wessel  Ten 
Broeck  (by  his  first  marriage),  and  inherited  the 
Senate  House  through  his  wife,  Sarah  TenBroeck  — 
the  aunt  of  Rachel  DuMont. 

*         *  *  *  #  *  *    #     * 

Col.  VanGaasbeck  bequeathed  the  old  mansion, 
the  first  Senate  House  of  the  State  of  New  York, 
to  his  wife's  niece,  Sarah  DuMont  (a  sister  of 
Rachel  DuMont),  who  afterward  married  his  son 
Peter  (her  cousin),  a  member  of  the  First  Congress 


^4  Brave 


Little 


Maid  of  the  Revolution.       95 


^j~*~*-rf"*~<"-rt* 


96  Rachel  Die  Mont. 

of  the  United  States.  By  the  only  child  of  this 
marriage  —  Sarah  VanGaasbeck  —  this  antique  build- 
ing of  Revolutionary  historic  fame  was  given  to  the 
grandchild  of  "  Little  Rachel" — Charles  Ruggles 
Westbrook,  of  Ogdensburg,  N.  Y., —  who  conveyed 
it  to  his  brother,  the  present  owner  —  Frederic 
Edward  Westbrook,  of  New  York  city.* 

*This  antique,  historic  building  of  Revolutionary  fame  —  the  first  Senate 
House  of  the  State  of  New  York — has  recently  passed  into  the  posses- 
sion of  the  State. 


